Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1633 - 748: Some People Really Can Endure!
Capítulo 1633: Chapter 748: Some People Really Can Endure!
“Fuck! This is bullshit!”
A middle-aged man with a big beard and a paratrooper tattoo on his arm slammed his fist on the wooden bar, making the glasses jump, “Robert Connor! I know him! A hard-ass from the 101st Division! Now you’re telling me his wife and kid were beaten to death by the fucking cops over a bank loan?! And where is he? MIA? Probably rotting in Indiana mud!”
Another veteran, wearing a beret cap and missing an ear, coldly said, “I’ve always said they would take everything from you! Including your wife and child’s lives!”
The association’s leader, former Marine Corps Sergeant Major Mike Bradley, stood up, “Brothers, calm down. But we can’t let it go like this. Tomorrow, we’re going to the Detroit First Federal Bank branch and the police headquarters. We want a public apology! We want accountability for the cop who fired the shot! We want the bank to stop illegal evictions of all active-duty and veteran families!”
“Yeah! Mike’s right!”
“Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock! Gather in the city center!”
“Let those sons of bitches know we’re not all dead yet!”
The next day, downtown Detroit.
About thirty veterans, dressed neatly in old uniforms and wearing their medals, gathered silently and orderly at the entrance of the First Federal Bank branch. They held hastily written signs: “Justice for the Connor Family”, “Support Our Troops, Not the Banks”, “Police Killers”. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂
Mike Bradley led five other representatives trying to enter the bank to talk with the manager.
However, the bank doors were locked, and the people inside acted as if facing a major threat. Soon, a dozen Detroit police arrived, wielding batons and shields, blocking the bank entrance.
The leading inspector shouted through a megaphone, “Disperse immediately! This is an illegal assembly! Blocking passage is illegal!”
Bradley stepped forward, trying to reason, “Inspector, we just want a chance for dialogue! Regarding the tragedy in Detroit, we demand…”
“I don’t care what you demand!” the inspector rudely interrupted, “This is Detroit! Break it up immediately, or we’ll arrest you for disturbing the peace and illegal assembly!”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” an irate veteran couldn’t hold back, “Our people are risking their lives on the front lines, and your people beat our wives and kids to death! And now we can’t even speak?!”
“Watch your mouth!” a young officer pointed his baton and yelled.
Shoving began.
A cop tried to grab another veteran near Bradley, and the veteran instinctively blocked him.
“They’re making a move!” someone among the police shouted.
Instantly, batons rained down like a storm.
“Hit them!”
“Chase these old guys away!”
Though the veterans were older, their spirit was still strong. They shielded their heads and faces with their arms, cursing loudly, grappling with the police. The scene was chaotic.
Mike Bradley was pinned down by two police officers, batons smashing into his back. He gritted his teeth, silent, but stared fiercely at the commanding inspector.
Eventually, the peaceful protest ended with a dozen veterans beaten and dragged into police cars.
The news reached the “Old Corps” bar and the entire Detroit veteran network, anger finally reached a boiling point.
“They beat Mike!”
“They dragged people who bled for our country away like dogs!”
“Never fuck with the people who pay, but this time, we paid blood tax!”
That evening, as night fell, the already scarred city of Detroit ignited once again.
It started with hundreds, soon swelling to thousands. They were no longer just veterans but also their families, friends, and the discontented lower class.
The crowd held molotov cocktails and signs, shouting “No Justice, No Peace!” and “Burn down this damn bank!”
They surged toward the city center, smashing all the windows of the First Federal Bank branch, setting the police cars parked at the entrance on fire. Flames illuminated the angry, twisted faces of the people.
The riot quickly spread. Other banks, pawn shops, and symbols of authority like police posts became targets. Looting accompanied destruction as the city night sky turned a bizarre orange-red from the flames.
Sirens wailed into the night sky, but against the surging crowd, the police force seemed utterly inadequate.
In the chaos, someone climbed onto the wreck of an overturned car, shouting hoarsely at the crowd:
“Do you see!? They’re killing our brothers in Indiana! Killing our kids in Detroit! Beating our fathers in Detroit! This system is completely rotten, it doesn’t care about us! It only cares about money! Tonight, we don’t care anymore, let them see what we’ll do when pushed to the brink!”
“Let it burn!”
…
White House, Oval Office.
The air was thick with a nearly palpable heaviness.
The TV screen showed the fires on the streets of Detroit, the angry shouts of the rioting crowd, and the scenes of banks and police cars being smashed and burned.
Little Bush had been yelling for a full twenty minutes at Defense Minister Jonathan W. Green, the National Security Advisor, and several key economic advisors, his voice now hoarse, but his fury undiminished.
He slammed the table fiercely, making the pens on it jump, “Money, we damn well sent out precious, sovereignty-exchanged money! Not to see our cities burning! Not to see military families who fought for us being pushed to the brink, what the hell is going on?!”
