The Secret Cabal

By R. Archer

Ben Casey, a fired crime reporter, stumbles upon the story of a lifetime. A story that illuminates who is responsible for all the evil acts that take place in the world. He discovers a conspiracy that puts his life in jeopardy, but he is determined to see it to the end and write his story.

Making an appearance in this story is private dick, Harvey Valentine, who helps Ben Casey reach his destination and get his story.

No one is above THE SECRET CABAL. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hard-Boiled Books
• Release date: Dec 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781515130611

Book preview

Chapter 1

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I’m Ben Casey. Crime Reporter.

I use to be a reporter for my local chronicle.

That was before they went out of business. You know, change. They call it innovation. That is what they said when they fired me because that is the truth. They told me they were closing shop, which they did. They moved everything out of the building, sold the rights to the newspaper to a media conglomerate, which put the Chronicle out of business and converted it to an extension of its online media presence. In the short I was replaced by the internet.

I remember the day I got shit canned, very well.

My boss said, Sorry to break this to you, Casey. And he wasn’t polite about it. You’re fired.

What? I’ve put twenty-two goddamn years into this fucking newspaper; you can’t just fire me.

Well, we did. Now pack your shit and get out of here.

You’re joking, right?

My boss, a prick of an editor, lowered his glasses down his nose. What’s the matter, Casey?  You hard of hearing? Get your shit out of your desk, and get the fuck out, you’re fired.

I never liked the cocksucker anyway, so I went and grabbed my shit and got the hell out of there, but not before stopping at the door of the boss’s office.

The door was closed.

I was about to rap on the glass that said, Editor when I overheard Dave speaking on the phone.

Goddamn it, this isn’t right.

The man he was speaking to on the other end of the speakerphone said, Too bad if you don’t like it. Everybody in that department is to be let go today. Make it happen. The angry man’s voice ended with a dial tone.

I beat on the door.

Come in, goddamn it, Dave yelled from the other side of the door.

I pushed the door open.

He sat at his desk. It was a mess of papers and junk. He was packing some of it in a cardboard box.

What’s going on here?

Mind your own business. You don’t work here anymore, he said, and placed one of his editorial awards in the cardboard box.

So, knock the shit off Dave, if I’m fired, I don’t have to take your bullshit anymore. And the way I see it, I’m owed some answers. I got twenty-two years in this fucking place. I deserve some answers. I crossed my arms and wasn’t going to budge till I heard some.

He gave me an appraising look. Christ, if you weren’t such a big fucker, he was referencing my 325 pounds on a 5’ 10 inch frame.  I would just tell you to get the hell out of here. He leaned back. But I guess I can level with you, Casey."

Now I knew I was going to get some straight answers out of this guy. Give it to me, I said.

I just wanted to say first. I never liked you, but I respect you, and you’re a good reporter. So don’t get a fat head.

I gave a brief smile. I guess this was about as nice as Dave was ever going to get with me. I grinned. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody you thought I did good work.

Alright. Here is what I know. I’m sure you noticed I have fired or laid off everybody in this department. You’re the last one to remain.

Here I thought I was special, I said.

Out of respect, I waited too can your ass last.

Tell me why?  Tell me why you're packing up your shit. You get a promotion out of this?

Fuck no. Dave looked pissed. He took one of his journalism trophies and dropped it in the box. I’d never seen him act with such emotion before. You’re not the only one without a job. He glared at me. He was pissed now he’d revealed his emotions.

What does that mean?

"It means, Sunshine; I’m out of a job

too. I fired you and got myself fired. At least this way we can draw unemployment for a while."

That doesn’t answer my question to what’s going on here. I reminded him.

You didn’t hear the rumors? This place is officially out of business. It was bought out; everybody fired. Well, almost everybody. A few went to the new company to work as bloggers. Everything is going electronic. This paper was a dying dinosaur anyway.

So what are you going to do? I asked. It was all news to me, and now I understood why the place had become a ghost town over the past week.

I’m going to suck off the unemployment as long as possible, then put in for early social security. He put one last book in the cardboard box and put the lid on it. I suggest you do the same or learn how to blog.

Chapter 2

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I took my things and went home. I was feeling let down. Disappointed, and hurt. Hurt the twenty-two years I’d given this place didn’t mean shit in the end. I learned before leaving, those that did manage to keep jobs with the new company took them at a pay cut. I drove home not knowing what the hell a 52-year-old crime reporter was supposed to do.

Somehow, don’t ask me. I found my way to Betty’s. It was a local dive bar. Not my second home, but a place I visit on an occasion after a walk. The place was like a bowl of cereal. Full of nuts and fruits, except that, was what made it interesting. I’d driven by the place many times, but never bothered to stop. Not until a buddy of mine talked me into it. I had a good time, and the people were friendly if you bothered to talk to them.

As a crime reporter, it isn’t too hard to find some interesting gossip at Betty’s among the patrons, gossip that sometimes led to decent leads, followed by decent stories.

I wasn’t here tonight to take part in the conversation or find leads on stories. I was here, because at the moment, the only thing that sounded good after getting fired was a drink.

A stiff bourbon.

The liquor hit my gut and burned with a familiarity. For good measure, I downed another shot. Then a third and finally a fourth.

By this time. I was feeling much better and getting fired didn’t seem so bad anymore. It still pissed me off, but like Dave said, I could just enjoy the unemployment till it ran out, and if I wanted to try and get early retirement I could. Unlike Dave, I still had another good ten years to go.

Old habits die hard. And I guess to amuse myself, I started eavesdropping on the conversations at the bar.

I tell you, the woman two stools over said to her girlfriend. He was so small.

This conversation didn’t sound too interesting, so I focused on the guy next to me. He was bullshitting with a friend. You should’ve seen the motherfucker run for the ball. What a hit.

Baseball was boring.

In the sea of voices behind me, I heard one voice say to another.

I tell you it’s true. The voice belonged to a man. He spoke in a hushed voice.

I don’t believe you, his companion said.

Swear to God and on my grandmother’s grave. It’s all true.

You’re telling me there is some Illuminati that runs the entire world. The skeptical voice responded.

I have to say my interest peaked.

I’m not generally into conspiracies. And the Illuminati thing had been milked dead already.

Yes. It’s true, but they don’t call themselves the Illuminati.

The skeptical voice laughed. So what do they call themselves then?

I was tempted to turn around to see who these men were talking, but held my stool and my shot glass steadfast.

The paranoid voice started to say, They're known as...

I couldn’t stand the mystery no more and turned in my seat like I was getting a look around the bar, checking it out. If my ears were correct, the two men sitting at the table behind me were the targets of my eavesdropping. One man was larger than the other. He wore a dirty, stained trench coat, covering simple attire. He looked like he had slept outside the night before, on a park bench.

The larger man looked around the room. He spotted me doing the same thing, but paid me no attention. When he spoke I realized, it was his voice I was hearing that was insisting on a conspiracy. He leaned forward to tell the skeptical man and spoke in a voice I could still here.

They’re called the Cabal, he said.

The skeptical man laughed. Come on old timer. That is just too generic of a name for an organization that is supposed to rule the world.

I’m telling you. That is what they call themselves. Maybe they have a secret name; I don’t know, but I do know they are the ones that pull the strings in world governments.

Come on. You expect me to believe this group of people is the Illuminati?

It’s true!

I turned back to the bar and ordered another shot. This conversation was getting interesting. Crazy but interesting. I remained facing the bar and instead listened