A book of the near future:
This is a work in progress, It is not the final edit. It is offered as is only to friends and family
Tim Wilson walked into the school building and room 103 which was a math classroom during the school year, The evaluations started in early June after the six month ramp up and evaluator training period. President George Thomas Walton had been swept into office with a new Congress after almost eight years of stagnation, high unemployment and an out of control deficit spending, followed by four years of a competent but disliked businessman who had served to stem the tide of decline, but had done nothing to reverse the depths to which the country had fallen. His presidency was thwarted at most levels by a well organized vendetta by the Democrats, some Republicans and the media after 4 years, he had endured enough and was push aside from a job that had become a torture chamber for him and his entire family. His accomplishments were notable but few publicly admitted that . Most understood that his ability to govern had been irreparably damaged and it was time for another change.
After the 2024 election, the replacement of the members of Congress was almost complete, with only a few Senators who were still on their last few years and did not resign as many did, before their terms expired. Some went through what some called a conversion and sought re-election under a new set of promises. Some who had still not admitted the folly of their previous excesses, ran but were most often soundly defeated. The new direction was adopted by over eighty five percent of the new Congress and the other fifteen percent was irate.
This morning Tim had five appointments. As each person came in, Tim would access the database that had been compiled based on the work, welfare and criminal record of each person as well as the criminal records of their children . It was well known that there was a correlation between dependence and predatory crime. He was trained to quickly assess the possibilities and assign them to immediate work and training for which they would be paid based on the work. He had been trained to respond to all their objections with simple and totally firm responses.
The response to complaint that he liked the best, was to explain that they had been the beneficiaries of the involuntary servitude by others who had supported them for years rather than them being the victim of being forced to work. He almost enjoyed explaining that if they chose to opt out of the work and training, that any illegal activity would be dealt with draconian involuntary removal from the society and into last chance training camps in place of the traditional prisons.
Tim knew that in a few weeks he would be visiting one of the camps as a part of the motivation training module designed for career criminals. He had a dozen or so in his caseload who fit the definition of career criminals, and the visit to a detention camp was a necessary part of the evaluation process. The understanding that criminals were not unlike domestic terrorists in their effect on their victims, and the understanding that traditional prisons had done little to change that dynamic over the years, Alternatives to standard incarceration were developed. A swarm of lawsuits followed as prisons were reduced to the least comfort tolerable in a free society. At any time, non violent offenders could opt to go to penal detention camps where self sufficiency and training was the regime. Failure to abide by the training and behavioral rules resulted in return to the spartan and regimented prisons. After successful completion of training, the offenders sentences were commuted and they moved into to halfway houses where supervision would be continued for a year.
His afternoon today would be a bit different, Tim and his five other teammates would gather as a group and consider appeals and violations. The attendance at work and training was non negotiable. Medical care for people who were training was provided by nurse practitioners and sick days and personal leave days were available just as in private industry. Some however had become so ingrained in dependence that the change did not come easy and they were resistant to their country’s demands.
Tim finished up a little organizational stuff before his first client of the day walked in. This was a tough one. Tim had met with him before and there had been a blowup and the client had walked out. He was a 56 year old man with a history of emphysema. He had not worked in over 10 years, and insisted that he could not work. Frank was on disability from the post office and living with his wife Ellen. Tim had made a home visit that was unannounced and found Frank cutting the grass with no sign of discomfort. This brought the issue to the point that Tim required another office visit and a re-evaluation of Franks lung function. Frank had refused and stormed out. His check was held the next month, and he was sent a letter requiring that he come to the office in 48 hours if he was to be considered for any assistance, either payments or training for employment.
Frank Vincent Mendez came through the door and looked at Tim,
“You sorry son of a bitch.”
Tim motioned for him to sit. Frank sat, still visibly angry. Tim began .
“Mr. Mendez , I am making an appointment for you for Thursday with Dr. Brownlee, just down the street. He will check the functioning of your lungs and ask you to do a stress test. Based on the results of that test, you will either be assigned to rehab therapy, or to an immediate temporary job starting on Friday, or if you choose, a training program to prepare you for a higher level job. You may return to the Post Office voluntarily where you will be placed on an immediate rotation sorting mail. Unless Dr. Brownlee finds that your lung function is below the mandated cut off, your disability check will not be released, and I can tell you right now that you will most likely be working by the end of the week, at a minimum of three days a week. Do you have any questions?
Mendez stood and leaned on the desk and gave Tim a string of profanity that referenced Tim’s mother, his profession, his wife’s profession and various physical traits in language that Tim had heard often in his time as a policeman, but seldom with so much passion. When Frank finally finished. Tim said,
“Well, I can report to the doctor that I have personally observed that your lung function is at least not terminal this week, but still, do you have any questions?”
He waited through a few seconds of steamed silence. Tim braced. Physical attacks were not uncommon. He went on.
“If not here is the appointment slip for Dr. Brownlee.“
Mendez looked at the slip, and then at Tim and shot back with an air of angry resignation.
“Oh, what the fuck, I’ll check in with the post office when I leave here.
“Good for you Frank.”
As Frank scowled out of the cubicle, Tim saw Lucile Smidtsen, sitting in the waiting area.
She had missed scheduled meetings in the past week and had been notified that she would be dropped from all assistance if she missed another appointment. She was a large woman with almost blond hair.
Tim started with a warm greeting rather than a rebuke for the missed meetings.Tim had often thought to himself and occasionally voiced it to his fellow cops, “ Well he came by his condition honestly.” By this he meant that someone had grown up in a situation where his actions, though self destructive, were the norm. That his actions had been allowed or accepted and were therefore all he knew. . Thanks for waiting.”
Tim tried to put on a pleasant face, at least to start and said.
“Ms. Smidtsen, I can see you now” The notice had acquired her attention and he just did not need to do anything further. The process would take care of her resistance.
As she walked into the cubical, he said , with a warm smile.
“Good Morning Mrs. Smidtsen. How are you today?”
She only glared at him and dropped into the chair as though trying to break it. The government style steel chair held..
He moved on. “Okay, then let’s get started. We are here today to set up a program for you and I need your help to fit your skills and desires to the requirements of the new law. Do you have anything that you think I should know before we begin?”
Silence and her glare intensified.
“Okay then, let’s get started. When did you graduate from high school?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s fine, then your age is…?”
“Forty three.”
Tim thought. “My God she looks sixty three.”
“Where have you worked in your career?”
The words and positive projection of ideas had been part of the training but seemed silly at best. “ Career my ass “ he thought.
“I worked at McDonalds for a week back in eighty three.”
“Why did you leave?”
“They wanted me to work til midnight.”
She spat this out like they had asked her to kill her firstborn.
Tim was settling into what had been a pattern in these past few weeks. Americans did not appreciate being questioned, and that dislike seemed even more pronounced when it involved those who were taking from rather than contributing to the wealth of the nation. The feeling of entitlement had become almost as well entrenched in some as a right of exercising free speech or to privacy. He had certainly been treated to that by quite a few who felt that they could say anything to him. And they could, with absolute impunity.
Except for one thing. The checks would stop.
Tim was aware of some elevated voices in the area several cubicles over, but that was not unusual. His team members were able to defuse most things but he noticed the security officer, another retired police officer, Robert Windom, moving slowly past his cubicle and toward the raised voices. The smile from Windom directed toward Tim conveyed unspoken,
“Here we go again.”
Tim and Robert had worked together for 30 years at APD and gone through the Evaluator Training System together. Robert had then asked to be transferred to a security opening for which he was qualified more so than putting up with mouthy clients.
Tim had some sense of security because of the metal detectors protecting the whole area and the second security officer at the main entrance. Tim was armed because of the American Rights Front and the threats they had made against evaluators. The adequate 44 caliber Makarov was at his left waist under his sport jacket.
Tim heard a loud “NO” and the silence that followed was only a few seconds then a shot. Tim reached across his waist with his right hand and drew his pistol by reflex and came around the desk and took a quick glance out of the entrance to his cardboard and fabric fortress. Robert lay three enclosures down with a bleeding wound to the side of his neck. He was holding the wound with his hand but the blood was being lost at a rate that meant he would be dead in minutes. He looked over at Tim and then back into the cubicle where Josh Kendall worked. He patted his empty holster and Tim knew that the sense of security had just evaporated.
Tim dropped to the ground and drew a bead on the space above the wounded officer. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Lucile Smidtsen out of her chair and moving behind his desk. A look of panic in her eyes. Confident that his rear posed no threat. Tim got up and moved out a few feet.. He heard Josh, in a quiet but firm voice, say
“You know this is not going to work.”
Tim glanced to his right and saw that the second security guard at the door was alert and moving cautiously forward. He had no cover and could not see the threat. Neither of them could see into the cubicle , but he too could see Robert on the ground. Tim got the guards eye and pointed at his 44 and then toward the spot where Windom now lay, apparently unconscious.
The security guard dropped lower and took aim at the opening of the cubicle where Josh was confronting an terrifying situation.
There two quick shots and some scrambling noises and the guard raised his aim and fired high. Only then did Tim realize that someone, and it had to be the shooter, was scrambling over the cubicle walls and into the cubicle next to his. Tim retreated back just beside the opening of his cubicle.
There were another two shots, and a scream and a moan. A tall black woman fled the cubicle just a few feet from his nose She was screaming. He refocused, and felt the wall of cubicle shaking and looked up and back just in time to see a man with the pistol going over into his space. Lucile was hiding behind his desk and the man fired once again. Tim took a deep breath, then rolled out and fired four shots. The first missed and the man looked around, but the second and third hit his torso and the fourth tore away part of his cheek and he tumbled onto the desk with the pistol pointed and he fired three shots in Tim’s general direction, unaimed but too close. Pop……Pop…….Pop. The gun then dropped from his hand and bounced on the floor.
Tim shouted “Clear, Clear get a medic”
Someone shouted “On the way.”
Tim grabbed the gunman and dragged him out the door while pocketing the gun with his free hand. The man was limp. Tim moved quickly toward his old friend, Robert . He looked into the cubicle next to his and saw Amy Williamson, sitting in her chair, but the head shot made it clear that she was gone. Within seconds there were three of them by Windom’s side and applying pressure to the wound. Windom looked weakly at Tim and mouthed, ‘Sorry buddy, sorry.”
Josh , an unemployed accountant who also went through Evaluator training with Tim, lay on the floor, bleeding from a wound in the shoulder. Tim stuffed a handkerchief from his coat pocket into the wound. There was not much blood. Josh was in a lot of pain but would probably make it.
“Get someone over here.” Tim yelled.
Several medics from the fire station next to the school were now on scene and working. one came to check Josh.
As he looked around, he saw Lucile Smidtsen standing by the cubicle entrance and holding her arm.
“That lousy son of a bitch shot me” She then looked at the prone security officer and the blood on the floor and dropped to her knees and started screaming. “Son of a Bitch….Son of a Bitch…What is going on here?”