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End of Evil

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Motto:
"WANT IS WEALTH
POVERTY IS PROSPERITY
SQUALOR IS LUXURY"


Comrades! I bring glorious news stolen gleaned in a secret session from Comrade Colonel 7.62's Way Forward Time Machine files. In it we learn how one of the last of the Evil KKKapitalists will be defeated in the Glorious World of Next Tuesday:

Max LeCroix glanced again at the monitor which he had switched to the lobby security cameras' feed. The four remaining federal men were milling around talking with themselves, or on their federal-issue Blackberries. They were ringed by some of LeCroix's security staff, and had been herded away from the lobby chairs. No point in making their visit more comfortable than necessary. LeCroix knew why they were there; his lawyers had kept him well apprised of the timeline of the federal proceedings. The EPA was finally shutting down his business. Completely this time.

At first they claimed he was endangering the local environment, but LeCroix's lawyers were sharp. They had swatted that aside easily enough. Then the EPA claimed the facilities were located on wetlands and brought in their own bought-and-paid for environmental “scientists” to corroborate the hoax. The EPA would not listen to rational arguments against their position; they heard only themselves and their boss in the Executive, along with the boss's congressional puppets.

Out of habit, LeCroix straightened his tie. “Escort the two gentlemen in.” He released the intercom switch, and leaned back in his chair. It had been all he could do to arrange to have only the EPA principal agent and a deputy come to his office to serve him. He was thankful that not all six of them would be crowding him.

LeCroix did not bother to offer a seat to the EPA officers, nor did he rise from his chair as the two security officers assigned to the federal men led and followed them into his office. For their part, the feds did not offer to identify themselves. “You'd better show me your IDs”, LeCroix said in a tone meant to be merely professional, but it came out as an order, and the two feds reached for their ID holders to comply.

LeCroix knew the skinny dreadlocked one was the leader by the manner in which he earlier breezed into the lobby and tried to act imperious; he affected a stance that allowed him to look down his nose at people, a passable imitation of an expression no doubt copied from his Imperious Dear Leader. LeCroix simply thought of him as Skinny, even though the name on his EPA ID read Levon Washington. He wore a hoodie whose front was emblazoned with a tribal symbol, beneath which were the words WE ARE THE ONE PERCENT. LeCroix smiled to himself. That was the new federal slogan, designed to help the “Little People” feel better about their plight. The feds' latest advertising said they were only there to help, and that they were the one percent who defended the ninety-nine percent. He recalled how just five short years ago it was a badge of honor to be a 99%er. Now that fewer and fewer were permitted to be “rich”, government personnel had snatched up that role, and proudly claimed the title of Parent to the masses. Skinny carried a .45 long slide Colt in a government-issue holster at his belt. Only LeCroix's own security staff were allowed to bring firearms into the facility, but he knew that federal regulations required their roaming agents to carry weapons at all times. Skinny's favored deputy had a weapon too, but it was better concealed in the folds of his sweatshirt.

Skinny's cohort was a caramel-colored compact five feet eight inch 300-pound mound of a man named Gutierrez that LeCroix naturally branded Caramel, quiet with a ponderously aggressive stance. Caramel was not only the backup but the cameraman; he next pulled out a federally-issued Blackberry and held it up to capture both Skinny and LeCroix on its imager.

“You can't use recording devices in this office”, one of the security officers told Caramel.

Skinny turned and gave the officer a baleful look. “We wif da fed'ral gov'mint, an' we kin do anythin' we want - brothah.”

“Don't worry about it, Charlie. We'll bend the rules for these gentlemen. They're very familiar with that procedure themselves, I'm certain,” LeCroix said to the security man. He turned to Skinny. “What have Mr. Null's myrmidons come to exact from his humble servant today?”

“Who's Mistah Null? We represen' da EPA.”

“Oh, not the Lollipop Guild? Your hoodie shows you represent the one percent. Does that mean the one percent should control the ninety-nine percent?”

“Wha' kinda stuff's dat, honky?”, Skinny asked, leaning over LeCroix's desk and trying to leer menacingly as his hand unconsciously touched his weapon. “'S'at s'posed ta be some kinda half-ass racist question, ‘cause Ah doan' gotta take no questions fum yoah kahnd.”

“I was asking an ironical and then a rhetorical question, and I'm saddened that you strive to live down to my expectations of federal government personnel. I'm quite familiar with your parent agency. And I'm quite aware of why you're here. Tell your boss there will be no further entertainment from this venue. I presume the primary purpose of your visit is to drop off some documents?”

“We got yo' stuff raht heah, an' you doan' talk ‘bout entertainin' us now, bitch.”

LeCroix's face darkened and a thought burst through that this little felon would be someone's bitch in prison if the world were rational. He answered, “I can see why you've been selected as the spokesman of your little posse. Your erudition needs to be given an outlet.”

“Doan' you insult me, you li'l cocksucka! Ah got six waitin' fo' you iffen you try!” Skinny's hand patted his weapon intentionally this time.

LeCroix thought irrelevantly, Doesn't that pistol hold seven in the clip, plus one in the chamber, if you're that foolish? Do you think you've got a revolver? But he said, “Oh, I would never think to deplore such a courteous and professional government representative as you. In fact I was just thinking what an excellent representative of our federal state you are, and that you'll go far in this administration.”

“Yeah Ah ahm an' you bettah be respec'ful a' my authority.”

“I'd do nothing if not display to you all the respect you are worthy of.”

Skinny scowled, then nodded, pulled out a government-issue Blackberry, fumbled on the screen, and read from it, a feat which mildly surprised LeCroix. “You got five days ta haul yo' stuff an' yo' people off these premises, ‘ceptin' the stuff dat's already been labeled an' tagged fed'ral property. These premises are decla'ed fed'ral prop'ty an' will be occupied by fed'ral officers whethah you're vacated or not by two P.M. this Tuesday. You are requah'd to acknow'edge this as Ah record yo' image an' answer.”

LeCroix grimaced mockingly at the Blackberry's camera and said “I hear you.” Skinny pocketed the Blackberry and held out the documents crafted to give a legal patina to the eviction of LeCroix and his associates from their company. LeCroix made no move to take them. After a few seconds, Skinny dropped them on his desk.

“Tell your boss that I'm appreciative of his generous allotment of time to my team and me before his occupation commences.”

“Yeah, you bettah be ‘persh'tive, bitch!”, Skinny sneered. Then he turned to leave. Caramel paused to deliver a scowl that would be laughable under other circumstances, then laboriously turned around. Both were escorted out by LeCroix's security men, and the door was closed.

LeCroix looked down on the documents as if they were infected with the Plague.

This is how it ends, he thought. Of course all the valuable data and materials had been moved out of his facilities and laboratories months ago. LeCroix had known this day was coming, long before the fed had targeted him. Only a few clerical people still staffed the offices; his empire had been dismantled in bits and pieces over time even as government regulations continued to expand and push out all capability of businesses nationwide to be productive. As the government consumed, mismanaged, and destroyed more of the technologies and people who had made his nation's material advances possible, more businesses, many of them headed by good men he knew personally, had gone through this same ignominy. There's no place left for us, thought LeCroix.

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Interesting find, but perhaps something got a bit distorted during the transition phase. I thought the EPA was supposed to carry 7.62 rounds for the future if I'm correct. Weren't we supposed to be switching to AK's?

Perhaps 7.62 thought all references to 7.62 were to himself? And therefore he used the futuristic auto-correct which diverted it to the nearest reference? Possible.

No matter, he'll receive a memo with the next shipment of 174,449 rounds for our gov'mint to transfer through a smooth conversion into handling a real weapon.

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This LeCroix is (or will be) obviously blissfully unaware that Dear Leader knows (or will know) all about the location(s) of his so-called valuable data and materials - in fact, LeCroix will be watching on special federal-issue closed-circuit television from the Gulag when the Federal New Black Panther Squad blows his data and materials - and his little dog, too - all to kingdom come.

That will be right before his own personal lights get put out for the Very. Last. Time.

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Comrade Sovremennyy, Cololnel 7.62 has - er, will be assigning all 7.62 ammunition to himself and his Temporal Security Forces for all times past, present, and future, so other agencies must make do with whatever they can scrounge.

Comrade R.O.C.K., The Kollektiv will be / was happy to learn that Comrade Skinny Washington will be / was allowed to improve his shooting skills using the Racist Traitor LeCroix as a moving target on condition that the GSA will be / was to use the video of the target practice as entertainment a training aid on their 2016 Vegas junket.


 
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