Free The Suns of Liberty (Book 2): Revolution by Michael Ivan Lowell

the world that the
Revolution wasn’t the only guy taking out the bad guys.
    But it was entirely unacceptable
to fake it and then not even have the courtesy to tell him—the guy who was
actually going to be taking down the perp! What if he had actually hurt that
guy? 
    Lithium's real name was Clay
Arbor. And in another life, not that very long ago, he had been one of the most
decorated fighters the Special Forces had ever seen. He was a man known for his
extreme loyalty to the chain of command. He would do the jobs no one else
wanted to. He liked to believe that he thought long-term, big picture.
Sometimes to defend democracy, freedom, apple pie, and all the rest of that
shit, you had to do things that made you hold your nose.
    Understandably, given the ol’
Stars and Stripe’s larger-than-life legend, Arbor’s persona was mainly
concocted to be a corrective to the Revolution. The Anti-Revolution .
Proud to be it! He'd gone up against the Star-Spangled Freak many times and had
always held his own. Their battle that destroyed the Brooklyn Bridge. The fight
on the Mall in Washington, and a dozen other scrapes in Boston itself. You
could always count on lots of real estate damage when the two went on a date
together. Their battles always sold lots of advertising, so no need to guess
why the Council kept the Revolution around.
    But this dog and pony show was
getting old. Arbor had always done whatever he was asked, but he was accustomed
to being utilized to the best of his ability.
    Fighting some limp dick from
Broadway was not going to get it done.
    “I thought I was the great white
anti-Revolution hope. Why can't we kill him again?” Asking the questions he
already knew the answer to, Arbor added, “And why aren't we out stopping real
crime? Folks know the difference.” Arbor read Bob’s face. “Yeah, I know…I know
the answers. Sometimes I just like to hear myself ask the questions.”Bob was
holding his hands up, nodding to every word out of the big guy’s mouth. He was
entering what Arbor called Bob’s “time to talk his star down mode.” “Ask me,”
the rotund manager said, “I think they've got too much manpower diverted to
trackin’ him. We have to know where crime's gonna pop up—”
    “Jesus!” Arbor howled, and Bob
immediately winced, like he’d been caught going into the dirty bookstore.
“They're too busy tracking the Revolution to help me beat the Revolution? They
need to either let me take him out or beat him at his own game. I mean, those
kids today. Now they're gonna remember that for the rest of their lives. Phony
or not, that shit makes a difference!”
    Just then a burst of laughter
caught their attention. Beside them were a couple of temporary trailers set up
for the actors and film crew, but disguised as construction trailers for a fake
road repair, so Arbor hadn’t noted them before. Now, camped out in front of one
of the trailers they saw a group of young kids smoking cigarettes. They
recognized them instantly. The children from the bank.
    Child actors.
    “Jesus!” Arbor spat in complete
and utter disgust.
    Neither of them said anything for
a long moment.
    “Son of a bitch!”
    Arbor stewed. The kids just continued
horsing around, oblivious.
    Bob fought it as hard as he could.
    Straining.
    Sweating.
    But finally he could hold it back
no longer.
    He let loose a snort of a laugh
that sounded like a pig dying. And when Arbor shot him the inevitable “eat shit
and die” look, he totally lost it. A belly howl like a hoarse hyena erupted
from the fat man.
    Arbor glared at him, revolted.
“Really?” 
    Bob couldn't breathe. He was
whining and wheezing, and it looked like he could piss his pants at any moment,
and the angrier Arbor became, the harder he howled.
    Arbor expected Bob would shit his
pants, too. Sure looked that way. Which was kinda funny.
    A reluctant smile spread across
Arbor's face. He didn't know if he was laughing more at Bob or himself or the
whole damn situation,