ã€ŠHitman Holymanã€‹


 Chapter Zero: The Cleaner.

    A scream of confusion lit the night, followed by the silence of nobody coming for help. A young man thrashed in the low lighting, the wooden chair he was zip-tied to, creaking in the process. The gleam of metal nearing his face and the sickening clank of stainless steel hitting teeth echoed as his screams for help turned to incoherent bellowing, the ratcheting sound of the metal device holding his mouth wide open.

    ¡°Familiar, but different, isn¡¯t it?¡± whispered a high-pitched young female voice. ¡°Being the one in the chair for once. Sadistic enough to go through med school just to subject kids to brutal dentistry and, from what people have said, not even gentle about it. Someone should have noticed the warning signs that you enjoy hurting people, like your patients, or your wife¡­someone should have done something BEFORE you killed her and your own unborn child, but I guess hindsight is 2020, you should have been an optometrist instead of a dentist, maybe you would have seen the spirit of vengeance coming.¡± She said with a sigh, her red contact lenses looming over his face and the ghostly white makeup painted on her skin. He argued with nonsensical noises, befitting a man begging for his life, with his jaws locked open by cold steel bars.

    ¡°Oh I know, I know. It¡¯s scary in this chair of yours. Being helpless, like a child, while someone hurts you, and you don¡¯t understand why, but you can see in their eyes that they enjoy it. Like me. You¡¯ve seen that killer look in a mirror, but you never thought it would find you. You probably paid off the cops, or just did some favors, maybe you have a buddy on the inside making sure you¡¯re safe. He failed, if that¡¯s the case, you shouldn¡¯t feel safe, Chris. She said, powering up the drill and smiling, black lipstick curled up like a demon grin. ¡°And you could have gotten away with being a sadistic wife-beating prick who likes to hurt patients¡­IF you just knew when to stop the violence. So¡­did you just not want kids, or was she just ready to leave you and take your kid so you couldn¡¯t hurt them or her anymore?¡± she asked. Realizing, she would never get answers with him unable to speak. She considered taking the tension off and hearing the explanation, but a dead woman 7 months pregnant told everything she needed to know about Chris. The rest would just be lies and tricks.

    ¡°Well obviously we may never know the truth even if I let you talk, but I¡¯m not here to get explanations for your crimes, I¡¯m just here to make you regret them. She clicked the play button on her playlist and began ¡°Industrial Bass Dubbstep Metal 3¡± to mask the impending screams. She banged her head as she began the root canal, and the smell of burning teeth wafted into the room. Her eyes rolled back to the symphony of pain and downtuned guitar, the thumping subwoofer setting the pace of the procedure and his salival moans just blending into the mix along with ambient chainsaw and horror movie effects. Like a DJ freshly released from hell, the phone displayed some nice red mood lighting with flashes of pink and white, like a trance, sending Chris into surreal territory. As the music faded down, she stepped back, wind-milling her ponytail lightly and stepping back into the light with a small hammer and chisel.

    ¡°I brought this with me, don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s been sterilized, 9 out of 10 dentists wouldn¡¯t recommend this, so consider me that tenth bitch who would. Don''t tell Colgate¡± She said, placing the chisel on his front canine and spinning the hammer with her free hand, moving to the beat to build the anticipation as she grinned darkly, Cheshire cat of the damned, gleaming teeth in the dark within a grin of black lipstick and shadowy gums. The music built to a bass drop, and as the low frequencies peaked and the music hit a silent lull, the bass hammered down heavily and so did she, knocking his tooth in half and reloading the chisel to the next one like a machine. Over and over.

    ¡°This is kinda fun, I see why you like it. Unfortunately, I can¡¯t think of a great way to simulate throwing you down a flight of stairs while almost full term pregnant and hoping you break your neck¡­so I have to get creative.¡± She said, stepping away as he coughed and tried not to choke on his own broken teeth. She stepped back into the lighting with a wooden baseball bat, contemplating it like she was doing complex calculations.

    ¡°How many steps did she hit on the way down do you think¡­maybe¡­8?¡± she said, sending an over-handed swing and the bat down on his wrist, then spinning almost ballerina-esque to break the kneecap. She followed by a few moments of savoring the mood and a few hits to the ribs with slightly less force, but enough to break something each time. The white and black makeup now spattered with blood began to run with sweat, as she backed away and bobbed to the beat, and the beating. She checked her phone, skimming the crime scene photos and making sure to copy every bruise with decent accuracy, as she casually threw a few more whacks to the shin and stomach, repeating the stomach blows until satisfied with the damage she estimated.

    ¡°That¡¯s probably close enough, but it says here she died of internal bleeding before the ambulance even got there. I bet you waited a while, and I¡¯m just not as patient as you. I¡¯m also a creature of habit, and I gotta add some personal flair to the scene. I can¡¯t have you surviving and identifying me, so¡­let''s meet my friend. She¡¯s a very shy girl, but when she does come out to play, she plays rough. Courtesy of the Murder Geisha, Spirit of Vengeance: Avenging entity of every woman ever beaten and abused. We¡¯ll see you in hell, Chris.¡± She said flipping a butterfly knife into his view with a Japanese symbol painted on her cheek and a big giddy grin, the spray of blood streaking across it with the first of many slashes.

    A pair of men¡¯s boots walked the bloody dentist''s office floors, duct tape securing the plastic bags around them, as the footprints left oddly clean and flat marks in their absence. A pair of black gloves holding tweezers lifted a single strand of red wig hair to a pair of eyes hiding behind a medical mask and goggles. The almost alien-like silent figure placed another hair, shorter and black, organic human, into the zip-seal bag and grabbed a small hunting knife, hand checking the wounds and meticulously following them with a strange series of dead calm slow stabs, as if re-enacting the murder himself. He finished by sliding the knife into the body and leaving it, like sheathing it for later in human flesh, dead for hours. He steadied his disposable plastic jacket for comfort, grabbing a fresh bag and some garden sheers, gleaming with a mirror polished edge that has clearly been hand sharpened by someone experienced. With a strange indifference, he began collecting the ends of each finger, dropping them into the bag with any trace of scratches or struggle DNA that may have remained under them. He opened a small metal tube and removed a stale cigarette, half burned, and he lit the end of it, holding it up in the flashlight beam. It burned in the dental pliers and smoldered slowly, his hand tapping the ashes around, almost like a ritual. He looked around and bagged the evidence bags, flicking the cigarette as he walked out the back door, staring at the ground and taking oddly small steps, placing his boots down into her footprints, as if stomping bugs with exact targeting, each step taking him deeper into the woods to a gravel road, where he carefully removed his boot covers and bagged them as well. Squeezing the air out of the plastic bag of bags and random items, and 10 human fingertips. He tucked it into his pocket and began walking down the road, removing the disposable coverings as he went, clicking off the flashlight and vanishing like a ghost into the nothing. The second ghost to visit that office that night.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The bright flash of cameras lit the scene red and silver, as men in matching hazmat suits did an oddly similar job collecting evidence, to the advantage of broad daylight. A brunette woman in a suit held her nose and covered her mouth as a short bald man chewing gum and holding a notebook approached her.

    ¡°Well... It¡¯s a weird one. Killer left no footprints, but the intentions suggest he was about 150 pounds or more, wearing some kind of boot covers, size 13. Murder weapon left in the body like some kind of message, no idea what, but they got prints off the knife handle and found cigarette ash around the place. So we have a tall, slim guy who smokes menthols and wanted us to find the body. Door was wide open, tracks are being followed by guys right now, hopefully the guy left something useful out there. We didn¡¯t find hair or skin cells anywhere.¡±

    ¡°What bout under the fingernails?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yea, good luck with that. Sick bastard took the fingertips with him.¡±

    ¡°Trophy or evidence?¡± she asked, gagging slightly.

    ¡°Maybe both, but it was planned out, the cuts were made with something really sharp, maybe scissors, and nothing left they behind. Right in the center of the nail, cuts post-mortem. The guy was alive when he was tortured, but the fingertips were cut after death. No pressurized blood spray, very little bleeding. This guy was a pro, with one hell of a grudge.¡±

    ¡°Why do you think that?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Take a look at these. This guy¡¯s wife died 4 weeks ago, accidental fall down the stairs, forensics was pretty half-assed, but they ruled it an accident, and these photos of the wife match almost every bruise and broken bone on the victim here. Witnesses say our dead guy was at a nightclub hours before the killing began, hitting on strippers and living it up. Pretty fucked for a guy whose pregnant wife just died. This guy somehow lured in our dead dentist in the middle of the night to his own office, wearing covered boots and gloves, no forced entry, used the key, and then got him in the chair, replicated the wife¡¯s injuries pretty accurately, went major league on his ass with a bat, tortured him with the dental tools and then just went full Mike Myers on him with a knife till he bled out. Then he took the fingertips. Cleaned up a little, had a smoke, walked home. That¡¯s cold and personal. Why would this guy, a married man hitting on women at the strip club, end up bringing another man back here, unlock the place, and go in like he suspected nothing? Killer was someone he knew, his drug dealer, a friend, maybe some kinda sex thing, I dunno. But who the hell takes someone to their office in the middle of the night after a night of clubbing and from the Ecstasy in his blood, partying hard? I dunno about you, but if I was doing some weird shit in my own office after dark, high on E and alcohol, it¡¯s probably a sex thing. You know any strippers that wear a men¡¯s size 13 boot and can reach that shelf up there with the cleaning wipes without a stepstool? I¡¯m not judging, but it wasn¡¯t that kinda strip club, so unless this is way more complex than we thought, our boy here was glad the wife was dead and having a boy¡¯s night after the clubs.¡±

    ¡°It does get more complicated.¡± She said as someone handed her a clipboard. They found a fingerprint match on the knife in the body.¡±

    ¡°Fuck me, that was fast, we¡¯ve been here 30 minutes.¡± the bald forensics guy puzzled.

    ¡°Well, apparently we just got an anonymous tip and a name.¡± she added.

    ¡°Anonymous tip and ID on a suspect¡­before we even finished the damn police report? Oh, that¡¯s bold. You think the guy¡¯s taunting us?¡±

    ¡°Get your ass in the hall right now.¡± She said, practically dragging him as she went. Waving the man who brought the clipboard with her into the hallway.

    ¡°Both of you listen closely, and listen good. Shut this shit down, close the scene. Nobody touches the place. Don¡¯t say a thing to anyone. Don¡¯t even say anything to the other people here, or you¡¯re both gonna get fired, understand?¡± she said harshly in a whisper tone.

    ¡°No, not really, what the fuck, this isn¡¯t protocol.¡± Baldy said, looking worried.

    ¡°To hell with protocol. Just do it.¡± She ordered.

    ¡°With all due respect, if I¡¯m gonna get fired for some shady shit, I wanna know why. Now I got orders to process a crime scene and I came here to do that. So what the hell is going on?¡± the forensics guy shrugged as the other guy held the clipboard silently.

    ¡°Anonymous tip was from the strip club parking lot, burner phone, female voice. All it said was Detective Damien Baker has been a bad boy, and it hung up. Two sets of fingerprints matched the knife left in the guy. Damien baker, and a guy who¡¯s currently in prison for murder, who used that same damn knife.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me a cop took a weapon out of evidence and murdered a guy with it?¡± baldy whispered.

    ¡°I know Damien. Worked with him. Look at the damn file. 160 pounds, 5 foot 11, shoes size 13. Don¡¯t you dare say this to anyone¡­he was just quitting a smoking habit... menthols. Either we got someone trying to set up a cop who has access to evidence and his case files, or Damien killed a guy who murdered his own wife and got away with it.¡±

    ¡°Oh shit¡­yea, I¡¯m out. I¡¯m not saying anything. I like my job, most days. What do you want me to put on the report?¡±

    ¡°No fingerprints on the weapon, cigarette ashes disappear, no mention of anonymous tips, we¡¯re looking for some guy over 150 pounds, no hair or DNA found. I¡¯m taking this file from here. You clean the ashes up and wipe down that knife handle. That¡¯s an order.¡± She growled.

    ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am.¡± He said, looking at his intern still clutching the empty clipboard. ¡°I didn¡¯t see a damn thing, did you see a damn thing?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The intern shook.

    ¡°Wow. Guy must be a real pro. No real evidence found. Wild how meticulous these killers can be. Probably some guy the wife was banging on the side. Happens all the time.¡± He said, carefully grabbing a wipe and discreetly cleaning the knife handle down before placing it in the evidence bag and marking it with a different case number, folding it under and handing it to the intern. ¡°I think this belongs in the evidence room. Don¡¯t file it, it¡¯s already filed, apparently. No sense is doing it twice, right?¡± he winked.

    ¡°Whatever you say, I just got here.¡± He huffed, nervously taking the bag and the papers and leaving briskly. Baldy took a silent moment alone to process things, dazed by the scene.

    ¡°The shit I see just gets weirder every case in this town. HEY, someone get me a coffee, that¡¯s a wrap. We got everything we need here. Don¡¯t give me that look, brass says we¡¯re done, we¡¯re done. Someone else¡¯s crime scene now. That¡¯s how the shit rolls broski. Pack up, blood samples in the cooler.¡±

    ¡°We just started.¡± Sighed one of the other forensic guys.

    ¡°Yea, and we just finished. I don¡¯t make the rules, I just repeat the orders. Let¡¯s go, bags, tags and labels move it out.¡± He waved, grabbing the coffee as it was handed, making his way to the back door to get back to the lab, where he got paid just shy of what it took to deal with that kinda shit. He sat down in the van at a laptop and removed his gloves to type something while nobody was looking.

    ¡°Murder weapon fingerprints matched the victim, cigarette ashes too damaged to identify due to victim¡¯s blood exposure. Cause of death, knife to the heart, no leads or suspects at the time. No witnesses.¡± He muttered as he typed. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go get some lunch. Anyone have any place in mind? No sushi this time, 3 days in a row, I¡¯m sick of Asian stuff.¡± He sighed.

 Chapter 1: Casual night out.

    The serene musical sound of blues played on the wobbly record player, as a pair of black leather-gloved hands finished stacking the last bullet upright on the wooden work table. The strange silvery white sheen of the casings that would otherwise be brass, contrasted the ordinary looking 45 caliber jacketed soft points sticking out of them. As the smooth piano solo began, the hands picked up the long gray magazine. He began loading the odd bullets, casually, as they turned and rotated like a p90 magazine, the butt of the rounds visible through the smoky gray plastic.

    The fizzing sound of a cigarette drag preceded the distinct click of the magazine being loaded into a gun with a slap, followed by the click of a safety. A pair of rubber boots walked across the wooden floor to the nearby stack of plumbing supplies and pipes, grabbing a particular black-painted copper pipe and some square tubing, sliding the pipe in and twisting it till it locked.

    ¡°Bum bum, bum bum.¡± Whispered the voice, mouthing the blues guitar licks as he finished the cigarette and put it out. ¡°Sorry Gwen. I know we don¡¯t spend much time together anymore, but work is work, and God works in mysterious ways.¡± He sighed softly, climbing the metal ladder out of the basement and closing the hatch. The creak of a wooden bed being lowered over it in an unlit room as the only sound. ¡°I¡¯m glad we get a night out for a change.¡± He said, petting the rifle and leaving the room.

    The sound of crickets and cicada, roared in the night air as the same dark figure in a trench coat and rain hood plopped a camouflage fiberglass ladder to the side of a tree, climbing it and tossing around a ratchet strap to secure it. He found a nice sturdy limb to sit on, clipping his belt to the strap and getting situated. He kicked his feet casually, taking in the cool night air and listening to his single headphone with the sound of upbeat jazz piano as he dug under his left arm and pulled out an object, roughly a foot long boxy rectangle. He clicked out a handle, locking it in place, pulling an extending stock from the rear and locking it down, he began slowly screwing on the piece of threaded pipe and placed a small night vision scope on the slide rail, locking it to the rear and shouldering the weapon, now a good 3 feet long. He took the safety off, waiting patiently in the dark.

    About 30 minutes later, he watched the lights of a few trucks pull into the clearing, turning off his headphone and pulling the cross necklace from his shirt, whispering softly, almost silently.

    ¡°God, give me the strength and steadiness to do your work, the wisdom to listen to your words, and the patience to resist temptations, for they are abundant. Amen.¡± He said, tucking it back in his shirt. He tucked his elbow into the nook of a tree limb and rested the rifle, looking down the scope. He adjusted his glasses to see better, fighting the bifocals and, with an annoyance huff, removing them and getting a different pair from his inside coat pocket. Taking position again. On went the thermal scope, and the glow of 6 bodies walking around a central object became visible. 2 glowed a dim red, and 4 of them were as white as the truck headlights. ¡°There you are¡­looks like a mixed batch. Yes I know, temptations. I haven¡¯t forgotten.¡± He said to himself softly. He moved the crosshairs down to the center mass of the furthest target. ¡°Two hundred and seven yards.¡± He mouthed, doing the math in his head and aiming slightly higher. ¡°Guide my bullets with your grace.¡± He said, pulling the trigger. The gun fired a 2 shot automatic burst, splattering red across the truck hood. He moved to the next one, pulling the trigger again, another burst of 2 rounds planted the second target to the ground. He proceeded to kill a third time, and on the 4<sup>th</sup> target he paused, unsure if he was in front of or behind the dim red target. ¡°Move, you little shit.¡± He whispered, his finger twitching and the sudden urge to fire through him and move on to the last man standing, to take him out as well. He knew the rules, waiting for the red man to step aside before double-tapping the white target. He exhaled slowly, the rush of the kill surging to his head like a shot of heroin, and he very deliberately took his hand off the grip, holding it to the side so he wouldn¡¯t be tempted to keep firing. The deep urge to just kill them all, dimming down as he breathed. 4 white targets were down, slowly getting dimmer and more orange, as the two red ones got smaller in the distance, jumping into their vehicle and peeling out in the dirt as they hauled both their living asses out of the death trap.

    ¡°Thank you lord for this bounty.¡± He sighed, as if enjoying the most delicious steak one has ever known. Savoring the moment and making his way down from the tree to make sure they were dead. He lit a cigarette and by the dim glow a smile curled into his face, tapping the ash out into a metal tin to hide the evidence. ¡°Well, the lord does provide, doesn¡¯t he, Gwen?¡± he chuckled. Grabbing something from the boxes and bundling them under his coat. ¡°Maybe just one, actually. Don¡¯t wanna get greedy. After all, greed is a sin, and that¡¯s what gets you caught.¡± He said as he kicked the dead bodies lightly and checked again on the thermal scope to confirm they were very dead. He picked up one of the dead guy¡¯s phones and dialed 911, holding his phone near the other phone.

    ¡°Hello, 911 what¡¯s your emergency.¡± Said the voice. He pressed play as the text to speech played the pre-typed message.

    ¡°HELP! I heard shots in the woods. A lot of them.¡± Said the female voice. ¡°Shortly after, I saw a red truck going north really fast from off-road, the license plate JH 50744. I think maybe they killed someone.¡± The voice said as he hung up.

    He made his way south, through the woods, back to his van, parked off to the side of the road. He climbed in the back, removing his plastic coat similar to the cleaner''s from the dentist office slaying. He removed his ski mask to reveal a very ordinary looking man, graying beard, wrinkles, Caucasian and strangely forgettable. He proceeded taking his boots off and peeling away the fake flats, placing them in the paper shredder. He turned to his wooden desk, pulling the top off and revealing that the solid wood desk was hollowed out. He pulled some of the Styrofoam blocks out and took his brand new, stolen MP5 submachine gun, tucking it in firmly and blocking it with the foam, as well as Gwen, his mysterious disassembled rifle, which he handled with far greater care before heaving the top back up. He opened his little wood stove and tossed in his shoe scraps with a little charcoal, wiping himself down from head to toe with some alcohol wet wipes and tossing them in with some paper notes, lighting a fire and closing the door.

    He drove off slowly and steadily to the main road and began his long drive home. He picked up his phone and hesitantly swiped to the name Catherine, waiting for a pickup.

    ¡°Hey. Sorry it¡¯s late. I had a casual night out and wanted to call.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Mike¡­it¡¯s 1AM.¡± Said an exhausted female voice.

    ¡°I know Catherine. I went to the casino.¡±

    ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t drink anything, especially since I know you¡¯re driving home. I can hear that piece of shit van you won¡¯t get rid of.¡± She replied.

    ¡°No. I just had to take Gwen out somewhere she could have fun.¡±

    ¡°Mike, you know Gwen is dead.¡± She reminded.

    ¡°I know¡­but taking her necklace out makes me feel less alone. I know with God, I¡¯m never alone, but I needed Gwen tonight, so I went to the casino up in Princeton and made a few bets, had a few non-alcoholic cocktails. Took my shots at the horse races instead of the bar. I won, 4 out of 8 of those shots did the job. Ended up with a little bonus prize to take home.¡± He grinned.

    ¡°You always seem to make money gambling. I swear you¡¯re too lucky. I would say as your sponsor that gambling can be an addiction that just replaces the alcohol, but you seem to be doing okay with it. So why are you calling me?¡±

    ¡°I¡­had a moment of temptation. A nice stranger bought me a few shots of vodka to celebrate, and I declined, but they were left right there in front of me. I could have taken those 2 shots and nobody would have known except me and God, and for a fraction of a second I visualized it, had them in my sights. I know it¡¯s wrong. Those weren¡¯t my mission. My mission was 8 bets, a determined and set amount, but every time I go out to the casino I know there will be tempting shots around me, and the fact that I want to take them, almost like a reflex, scares me. But I can¡¯t quit going. This is part of my job. Plumbing and handyman work doesn¡¯t pay the best, I have some hobbies that require the extra income, so you could say gambling and taking risk is a big part of my job and I do enjoy the rush and the risk. But the temptations sometimes get in my way and cross my path and I just don¡¯t like that I still want to go for it.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°You really still believe god wants you to risk it, and make money betting?¡± she asked, sounding almost annoyed.

    ¡°You know, just between us, I still hear his voice guiding me. The only reason I can do handyman work and charge people so little is because of the winnings. I¡¯m helping people, water heaters, midnight plumbing jobs, people who can¡¯t afford a 900 dollar bill on fixed incomes. I can¡¯t do that free shit all the time and pay my own bills, you know. God makes sure I always make just enough gambling to comfortably keep doing my job, and the odds of winning by sheer luck are low. So we know I¡¯m no card counter or Poker champion, how else do I get so lucky?¡± He said, looking down at a box of 9mm ammo he left in the seat. ¡°I made about 1800 dollars tonight in about an hour, only spent about 80.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Jesus¡­why are you not buying powerball tickets?¡± she asked.

    ¡°God doesn¡¯t want me to be rich and spoiled, tempted to retire on my ass. I could have been greedy and kept going, but I could have also lost all of it doing that. I was to make win 4 bets, I did and walked away better than I started. That¡¯s a few plumbing jobs some little old lady or struggling mom can¡¯t afford that I can just do for free now. I¡¯m helping people, and in a roundabout way tonight I helped 2 people out, I resisted temptations and I feel good. I enjoy these outings and I know it¡¯s just Gwen¡¯s... necklace, and it doesn¡¯t feel anything. It¡¯s just metal and sentiment, but Gwen needed to get out, and having her there in some metaphorical way made it better. Sorry to bother you so late, I know it¡¯s rude, but I needed someone to talk to. It gets lonely.¡±

    ¡°Have you considered dating?¡±

    ¡°Actually, I¡¯m meeting a woman tomorrow. I¡¯m technically offering her a job, but with the work piling up there¡¯s no time to date. This is purely for her plumbing skills. For now, I¡¯ll just deal with my very functio-¡± he cut off abruptly slamming the brakes and swerving as he¡­ almost fully stopped, before a loud thump stole his attention. ¡°I gotta go¡­I just hit a deer.¡± He said hanging up quickly and white-knuckle gripping the wheel. ¡°Lord, please tell me that was not what I think it was. Tell me that was not what I think it was, and my old eyes played tricks on me. Please¡­let it be a deer.¡± He sighed, taking a breath and slowly staring at the road as a human figure stood up. ¡°Fuck!¡± he barked, calming himself and getting out of the car. A young woman adjusted her back, fluffing the dirt from her short black hair and a beat-up black leather jacket, in a confused daze.

    ¡°You serious?¡± She yelled.

    ¡°I am so sorry, I don¡¯t know¡­why were you in the road at 1AM?¡± he asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s no sidewalk douchebag, it¡¯s a highway. Where am I gonna walk? The ditch?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t walk, you get a ride or call a cab or something. I could have killed you, you need a hospital.¡±

    ¡°No, no hospitals. And yea I¡¯ll just call my personal limo driver or call a helicopter. Bitch I¡¯m broke, I just gotta get places, were you speeding, or drunk?¡±

    ¡°I was driving under the limit, and I don¡¯t drink.¡± he objected.

    ¡°You got any money?¡± She asked. ¡°Be nice to have some cash so I can chill at a motel or something if I have a concussion.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t sleep with a concussion, that¡¯s the point. You really need a hospital.¡± Mike insisted.

    ¡°No, no hospital, I¡¯m fine. Look, no bleeding, I can walk a stra-¡± she staggered. ¡°Okay a little wobbly but honestly that¡¯s just how I am. I¡¯m fine. Maybe a bit tipsy.¡±

    ¡°Get in the van.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°You abducting me now?¡± She joked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not that kind of preacher, but I¡¯m not leaving you here. I¡¯ll drive you into town, drop you off at the ER and what you do from there is between you and God.¡±

    They headed down the highway as she pounded down an energy drink.

    ¡°So what¡¯s your deal?¡± She asked.

    ¡°No deal, just heading home.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°No I mean the van. You got like an office and a buncha tools and shit. You like a traveling tool salesman?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Handyman.¡± Mike replied.

    ¡°Cool.¡± The kid said, noticing the cross necklace and the picture at the desk of him and his family in front of a church. ¡°Holyman/Handyman. Weird combo, but okay.¡±

    ¡°Jesus was a carpenter. If they had indoor plumbing and gas lines back then, he probably would have dabbled in that.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s with the 9 mills?¡± She said nudging the ammo boxes on the floor.

    ¡°Shit¡­I do a little target shooting at home.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Yea, I noticed the Glock under your shirt. Those water heaters must get really aggressive. Holyman, Plumber, strapped up with a 9 on his way home from a late night repair job, pickin up hitchhikers.¡±

    ¡°Everyone is allowed to protect himself and their family, even with lethal force, if he feels his life is in danger or the lives of others. And I¡¯m not a family man anymore. That¡¯s an old picture back there. I¡¯m not a preacher anymore, either. I¡¯m just a handyman with faith, who likes to be prepared. You do late night jobs at strange houses, you never know what creeps you might get. And it¡¯s not a Glock, it¡¯s an HK45.¡±

    ¡°HK¡¯s are pretty expensive; you know you can get a Glock pretty cheap. Cops carry em.¡±

    ¡°Your life is an investment worth overspending on. Never go cheap on personal defense. There¡¯s a reason they cost more. Better springs, exposed hammer, double or single action decocking safety, more comfortable grip, larger trigger guard. Navy SEALs use them for tactical missions. Granted they use the compact with the threaded barrel for suppressors, but luckily I don¡¯t need that, I do need the comfort of the extra few rounds, hence the extended mag. Glocks are great for gangbangers and law enforcement. Have you seen the level of incompetence in local law enforcement and common thugs versus the discipline of a trained Navy SEAL?¡± he smirked.

    ¡°Well that¡¯s for damn sure right. You know a lot about guns for a plumber.¡± she said with an eyebrow raise.

    ¡°I need to pull over for a moment.¡± He said, abruptly doing so in a hurry. He stepped out of the car, pacing nervously around the back, looking both angry and exhausted as he talked to himself. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. The kid¡¯s a drug addict.¡± He whispered alone, waiting for a reply. ¡°I¡¯m not¡­I¡¯m not doubting, I¡¯m just confirming to make sure there¡¯s no error in my understanding. Fuck¡­fine. Fine. I¡¯m not arguing, I¡¯m just stressed. I¡¯m aware I¡¯m also a criminal, that¡¯s kind of the reason I¡¯m uneasy. No, I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll do it. I don¡¯t want to do it, but I¡¯ll do it. FUCK¡± he huffed, opening the back of the van and digging through his drawers for something.

    ¡°You good?¡± the kid asked.

    ¡°Just looking for something real quick.¡± Mike said, grabbing his thermal goggles and turning them on as he undid his shirt. To expose the gun. ¡°This may sound really stupid to you, but I believe things happen for a reason." He finished, reading 98.6, and getting back in the car with the gun in his hand, a silencer on it. She looked nervously at him, waiting for a moment to strike.

    ¡°You seem really on edge, is there something wrong?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yea¡­I¡¯m going to have to kill you.¡± He sighed. Before he could utter another word, the flash of a rainbow colored Tanto point knife stopped an inch from his throat.

    ¡°Gun down, wallet and ID, hands on the wheel.¡± She said firmly. He smiled, strangely relieved.

    ¡°Had to make sure it was really you. So what is that, 5 kills now with that knife?¡± He asked, tightening his grip on her wrist so she couldn¡¯t move it further, and pointing the gun casually to her side. ¡°I have the upper hand, kid.¡± He smirked. ¡°You¡¯re not overpowering me with that knife, let alone before I could shoot you.¡± He said as a light click got his attention and her other hand brought a tiny pistol to eyeball level, and the van started rolling.

    ¡°What are you doing? Stop the car. Stop the car or I¡¯ll shoot.¡± she insisted.

    ¡°40mph and climbing, alone on a dark road going faster with my foot on the gas. You kill me with no seatbelt on, you¡¯re dead too¡­60¡­.65.¡±

    ¡°Old man, I¡¯m not afraid to die.¡± She squinted.

    ¡°That¡¯s your problem. That¡¯s why you don¡¯t clean your crime scenes. Fingerprints on the lamp-pull on kill number 3, Witness saw you leaving kill 5, if you weren¡¯t wearing that wig, they could have given a description of a lone girl with short black hair, or found the knife. That¡¯s twice in 5 kills you were caught and didn¡¯t know it.

    ¡°I knew it, fucking cop. Detective, special FBI agent?¡±

    ¡°Plumber, handyman. No badge, no bacon. Your secret¡¯s safe with me.¡± he said.

    ¡°Then how the hell did you know all that?¡± she growled, jabbing him lightly.

    ¡°Because I¡¯m the one who cleaned it up, and the reason you¡¯re not in prison. So you owe me, and you¡¯re gonna take the knife off my neck and the pea-shooter out of my damn ear.¡± He said, as she removed the knife and kept the gun down and ready.

    ¡°I owe you? So what do you want, free fuck, free favor, You know I don¡¯t have money, I don¡¯t even have a home."

    "And¡­you need a place to stay and lay low. Free room and board, free meals, I won¡¯t preach or make you go to church, I don¡¯t even go myself. Just a few basic house rules and you gotta pull your weight with the work.¡± He said.

    ¡°This work involve one of us on our knees¡­preacher? That¡¯s gonna cost a lot more than a room and some food?¡±

    ¡°I know the stereotype and I promise only about one in¡­like 8 preachers are like that, again, I¡¯m not even a preacher anymore. I retired a long time ago. But I¡¯ve been really considering hiring an apprentice. I was following you, planned to catch up to you sometime tomorrow¡­And then you stepped right into my path, and I bet you¡¯d be thrilled just to have a couch to crash on and free food.¡± He said getting out a cigarette and lighting it, yanking it away as the kid reached for it, ¡°Don¡¯t smoke kid, these things will kill you. Lotta deadly things are addictive as hell.¡±

    ¡°Bitch, I¡¯ve killed 5 people, you really don¡¯t want to be tempting me.¡± She said.

    ¡°Honey, I¡¯ve killed 4 people in the last hour and if you stepped out any faster, I¡¯d have your whole life''s killcount tied in under 65 minutes.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± She asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m your new boss. You passed the interview, Welcome to Finn Plumbing and other less advertised wetwork. I¡¯m Michael Finn."

    ¡°Thank¡­you?¡± she squinted.

    ¡°And do you have a name, aside from the Decatur Decapitator?¡±

    ¡°WHAT!?¡± That¡¯s what the cops are calling me? I-wh¡­I took one guys head off. ONE!¡±

    ¡°Well, it was your first confirmed kill. They tend to associate the name with the first one.¡± he shrugged.

    ¡°Well fuck me in the balls, so I¡¯m stuck with it? Great. I¡¯m Tanner. What did they stick you with?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. I have about 8 serial killer case names floating around. They don¡¯t know they¡¯re the same person. Magnesium killer, Molotov brothers, Mister black¡­I like that one actually, I may do another Mister Black soon, uh, Oh, the Lakeshot Shooter.¡± he casually added with a proud grin.

    ¡°SHUT UP!¡± she blurted. ¡°You are not the Lakeshot shooter. That¡¯s bullshit.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡± he shrugged. ¡°They never caught the guy or IDed him.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re like 60, the guy they¡¯re looking for is like a¡­ British spy or ex US sniper fresh from Afghanistan.¡±

    ¡°I know. They wouldn¡¯t believe I¡¯m the guy if I confessed at the station.¡±

    ¡°How¡­how did you possibly make that shot? Nobody could make that shot, that¡¯s why it made headlines.¡± She barked.

    ¡°Stick around, I¡¯ll tell you another time.¡± He yawned. "You like scrambled eggs, I¡¯m starving. I¡¯m gonna have some eggs back at the cabin.¡± He finished as she sat wide eyes and speechless.

 Chapter 2: The Organization

    A young detective, maybe 28, bald with medium brown skin and a slightly lighter rim of skin where a wedding ring used to be, ran his tell-tale fingers over his scalp. A woman strutted past the table, long black hair and vivid blue eyes, carrying a Glock 19 and swaggering as he stared at his laptop screen.

    ¡°You know your wife left you for this very reason.¡±

    ¡°Really? Because here I thought she left me because I was banging you on the side." he huffed.

    ¡°Well, yea, but clearly you¡¯re more interested in that conspiracy than either of us, so all those late nights we spent working on this, probably caused the late nights with us doing other things. So essentially, that laptop and its bullshit cost you your marriage.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°She knew the job when she married a detective, if she left me because of my job, I wouldn¡¯t feel like the villain here. She was stressed by the job, and the job wasn¡¯t good on the marriage, but finding the two of us bare-assed in the kitchen was definitely the part where she drew the line. I must be crazy.¡± He said, shaking his head and straining at the computer data.

    ¡°Obviously. You can¡¯t even blink, let alone look up from that screen with me in the room looking this good.¡± She said, gesturing to her cleavage.

    ¡°I mean crazy for cheating on her. THIS is perfectly sane detective work. Why don¡¯t you seem interested in the slightest? This is OUR case.¡±

    ¡°Because Damien, it¡¯s not OUR case, it¡¯s nothing. It¡¯s a bunch of unrelated cases you think are related to one major group. It¡¯s 20 of our old cold cases and 3 solved ones.¡±

    ¡°Of course they¡¯re related.¡± He objected, annoyed and finally looking up. ¡°All the same victim profiles, mostly wealthy, always horrible people with criminal lives under the radar even we didn¡¯t know about till someone shot them. The dates, almost perfectly spaced 3 weeks apart, never any REAL convictions, You know The Butcher they arrested wasn¡¯t the right guy. And this¡­magnesium thing.¡± He said. "Got me all kinds of confused."

    ¡°Well, all good serial killers take a multivitamin, Damien¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Magnesium dust found on the victim''s clothing, Gina.¡±

    ¡°Damien, that¡¯s 20 cases, two of them found unexplained magnesium dust on the victims. That¡¯s not an organization of killers, that¡¯s either coincidence, or one guy killing 2 of the 20 people from that unrelated list in a year. Magnesium boy made a second round. High profile criminal assholes make enemies and get killed, that¡¯s just what happens when you get rich and piss armed people off. You¡¯re focused on the¡­dates that ALMOST space out, the vague circle of locations covering the whole state of Illinois, the fact that a lot of rich criminals knew each other and had connections and 2 cases of them had weird magnesium dust. Have you focused on the differences? Because the differences are astounding. Here. This guy was shot with a generic 22, the most common caliber in the country, and then stabbed after that during an alleyway struggle. This guy was just shot in the head point-blank outside a bar with a special 22 subsonic round made for suppressors.¡±

    ¡°Both cases 3 weeks apart, Magnesium dust. Has to be the same guy. 22 long rifle caliber, rifling looked similar, obviously the first time he did it, something went wrong, and he switched to the knife. Next time he came back with subsonic rounds and went directly to the dome with a silencer. In an alley in case he had to get stabby again. Now the third time we see magnesium dust was not long after that, 9mm to the head, subsonic rounds. Nobody heard the shots. Motherfucker upped his game to a 9mm, and now he uses only suppressors and only shoots for the head. He¡¯s evolving.¡±

    ¡°So at best that¡¯s 3 cases of the magnesium killer. Evidence was lost on the 9mm case, no official record of magnesium. You may have imagined that.¡± She frowned.

    ¡°I worked that case, I saw the forensics, that¡¯s what tipped me off. Then the records got lost? The Magnesium killer adapted to stealing or bribing for records? I know what I saw. So that¡¯s 3 cases I KNOW fit the same killer evolution. Now draw a triangle, fits perfectly in my murder circle, all 3 dead guys Magnesium killer took down, knew someone else on one of these dots, and all shot about 3 weeks apart. Now they may not be the same guy, but they all work for the same organi-zation.¡± He said aggressively.

    ¡°Here we go. Organization of hitmen taking out the scum of society one hit every 3 weeks, centered around a base of operation, right here in the middle of Illinois. Well they sure do have a lot of hitmen with varying tactics, don¡¯t they, almost like they were just¡­different people murdering random people. Hey, chill out! People kill people, they usually use a gun, and these victims were human shit. There¡¯s no organization. There are a bunch of random events you glued together with one cold case you took personal that was either 2 or 3 kills from possibly the same guy that apparently uses magnesium silencers or something. That¡¯s 2 or 3 murders, not all 20+, and not the ones on your... MAYBE list, from over a year ago.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t use a silencer the first time. Still found magnesium. I can¡¯t find any guns that have a magnesium barrel, let alone a 22 and a 9mm. Where the hell is the powder coming from? The bullets were nothing special. Solid lead, 9mm was a Fiocci copper jacket FMJ. No magnesium jacket, or coating. I looked that up, it¡¯s not even used in bullet making, so there¡¯s no common brand he likes, no common store that sells anything magnesium. What, he just sprinkles it around for flavor? The fuck is it doing at the scenes, Gina?¡± he yelled.

    ¡°Damnit Damien, That¡¯s Special Agent Garrett if you¡¯re gonna take that tone. And then you better remember the safeword. It¡¯s one asshole with a weird quirk that killed 2 or 3 people who frankly probably deserved to die. 2 pedophiles and one guy who beat 3 hookers, killed one. Good riddance, Glad he didn¡¯t kill anyone decent. He stopped after that. The rest of this is nonsense. Look, a guy takes 3 to the back with a 10mm auto in his car from point-blank, this guy takes 2 rounds center mass lying in his bed with a Five Seven pistol. And what is this shit? Your man likes handguns and close range, right? Okay, maybe he has a lot of handguns, big vault and receipts. Seems to switch up his shot placement a lot, but maybe. So what the fuck is THIS case. Lakeshot Shooter. Guy on his lakefront porch gets hit in the face with a round forensics can¡¯t even identify. Their best guess is a bronze-jacketed compressed tungsten carbide 50 BMG round from 2800 fucking yards? That¡¯s some black-ops shit. You think the same people that run this mythical organization have guys who sprinkle metal dust on their guns before headshots that they botch 30 percent of the time, and also they hired some thugs who just empty rapid fire rounds center mass like stoned gangbangers, BUT they also have a guy who can blow away someone from a MILE and an HALF away, with 15 thousand dollar rifle and a mythical unicorn tungsten carbide round?¡± Gina asked.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°How do they know how far the shot was? They never found the gun or the shooter.¡± He scoffed.

    ¡°Well it says in the file that the bullet¡¯s jacket rifling¡¯s matched a Barrett 50, and according to blood splatter and shit I don¡¯t understand, the bullet hit with the force it would have at that distance. I¡¯m a detective, not a forensics genius, but they searched the radius and found a 50 cal brass shell. NOBODY heard the shot. On an open, quiet lake in the early morning, nobody heard a damn 50BMG artillery round going off. You know how far you have to be not hear a 50? Even with a suppressor, they sound like a cannon. So this guy has military marksman experience for sure, Military grade silencers, very heavy weaponry, expensive weaponry, and specialized bullets, and the same people who supplied that pro also hired a guy who fucks up a point blank 22 hit so bad he has to stab a guy? What do they just draw out of a hat and call random people up¡­hey buddy, wanna kill a sexual predator in 2 weeks, resume? Nah, just bring a gun of some kind. Any gun is fine, whatever you got.¡± She paced.

    Maybe they¡¯re taking the victims guns, Gina. Maybe that¡¯s why a different gun is used almost every time, they just never use the same once twice, they just kill people, take their guns, use that for the next murder.¡±

    ¡°Right, some lucky guy killed a Softball coach who owned 40 grand in black ops gear. What if the target didn¡¯t have a gun to steal?¡± she asked.

    ¡°They¡¯re likely not all registered, black market guns bought illegally, ghost guns, they probably have a stockpile of these and carry a dozen or more backups in some warehouse. Probably got their own gun store owner on payroll. Some of the crimes here had multiple calibers used. Like this one. Molotov Brothers. These guys made several kills, never caught either of them. 2 victims, if you can call them that, living together, both convicted rapists. We didn¡¯t even know they hunted victims together and racked up 4 more attacks until after they turned up dead. First guy was taken out with a Mosin Nagant, 7.62x54 Russian bolt action rifle from around 500 to 550 yards through the trailer window, and moments later people heard the other 2 shots, one through the door lock and one to the head taking out the second target with a 7.62x39, that¡¯s an AK47 round. So a couple of guys working in unison with Russian surplus ammo, one guy gets in close, the other takes a sniper position. Sniper takes a body shot, the other guy shoots the door, walks in, shoot the second guy, over in seconds, people in the area said the shots were a few seconds apart. No guns recovered, AK brass in the trailer, nobody spotted anyone carrying a rifle on the run, let alone 2 guys with rifles. They just executed like clockwork in unison, and vanished. Tossed a flaming bottle of vodka on the trailer. The dead guys probably had a gun, the shooter in the trailer snatched it. Disposed of the other guns somewhere, sold them at a gun show parking lot to some 20-year-old kid for 50 bucks. Who knows. They all have something else in common. They¡¯re all just weird. The ballistics don¡¯t ever quite make sense.¡±

    ¡°Oh so weird is now a point of evidence. Well, in that case we¡¯re both killers, especially you. You have enough weirdness in that laptop to tie you into this ring of assassins yourself.¡± she scoffed.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious. The Molotov brothers AK rounds were shortened by 1mm. Filed the tips flat...why? The guy who ate a 40 cal in his car, solid brass rounds. Paperwork says they were custom. Where do you even get solid brass bullets made for a handgun? Look at this report from last night. Arms dealers, big bust, couple of assholes selling some MP5s to some gang members. They show up to the place in the middle of the woods, halfway through the deal, 4 guys get taken out from nowhere. 8 shots in rapid session, 2 to each of the victims with a 45ACP soft point, rifling matches a 1911 style pistol¡­2 taps fucking one inch apart. Just the arms dealers and the leader of the gang buying the guns got tagged. The other 2 guys didn¡¯t even get shot at. The guy just picked 4, wiped them out, professional killer style, quick and laser efficient. The 2 guys in custody right now, were so confused they just ran like hell. Guy didn¡¯t even try to shoot them.¡±

    ¡°So they guy only had 8 rounds, typical 1911. He had one clip. He snuck up on them and went for the big dogs first, didn¡¯t care about the 2 nobodies. What¡¯s the weird part?¡± Gina sighed.

    ¡°Nobody saw the shooter. They were in a clearing, with headlights, probably a good 40-foot well-lit circle. Guy didn¡¯t even step into view. Both of the survivors said it was like a ghost just started executing people, no shooter, no movement, not even a direction, they said they just heard shots and people dropped. Everything went silent. So the perp was in the dark far enough away that they didn¡¯t even know where he was shooting from, took out 4 guys in 5 seconds with a 1911 pistol? That¡¯s some good shooting. Even weirder: The ballistics confirmed a 1911 style barrel rifling and estimated the range under 15 feet. How the hell did they not see him from 15 feet? Even weirder still. All shots were fired from a single position, look at this graphic.¡± He said turning the laptop.

    ¡°That can¡¯t be right¡­the muzzle of the gun was at 9 feet from the ground?¡±

    ¡°So this guy had an invisible ladder already conveniently right where the deal went down, or they just didn¡¯t notice the 15-foot tall guy rockin a Colt 45 when shit it the fan? Maybe he was a basketball player, 6 foot 9, only takes jump-shots?¡± he joked.

    ¡°Maybe forensics just botched that. Maybe they were kneeling down, so the shooter seemed higher up.¡± She puzzled. 15 feet away, 9 feet up¡­what the hell?¡±

    ¡°Survivors would have noticed everyone taking a knee BEFORE the shooting started. According to the charts I made, this guy would have had to be a hundred yards out or more to be in the dark tree cover, 45ACP rounds drop fast, Gina. Even if he hot-loaded the hell out of those shells for extra range and still get point-blank power, the gun would probably blow up, that¡¯s WAY over the pressure rating, and you¡¯d still be taking a hundred yard rapid shot, dead accurate on multiple targets with a fucking 5-inch handgun barrel, at night."

    So is he a 12 foot tall ghost with an invisible 45, or the best pistol marksman in the country up in a tree with night vision and dangerously hot-loaded rounds, just praying they don¡¯t blow the gun up?" she said, reading the screen. "Makes no sense, what the hell is he loading into that pistol? Survivors of the gun deal shooting said they were there to buy 4 MP5s, only 3 of them were found at the crime scene."

    "Looks like our ghost got himself a new toy and a bunch of ammo. I bet you ten bucks on a hunch, someone 3, 6, or 9 weeks from now gets taken out with a 9mm from an MP5.¡± He smirked.

    ¡°I¡¯ll certainly take your money, I don¡¯t see most of that happening, but I wouldn¡¯t be shocked if someone got killed with it somewhere. Wonder why he didn¡¯t take all 4?¡± She asked.

    ¡°You ever tried carrying 5 guns and making a getaway on foot through the woods? Man¡¯s only got 2 hands; we¡¯re looking for a ghost, not 5 ghosts.¡± Damien reminded.

    ¡°Okay, I still think most of your nonsense is unrelated cold cases, and red yarn tied between thumbtacks on some crazy theory board in your house... but this case is fresh and fucking weird. And if he can do that kinda damage with a colt 45 and 8 rounds, and he¡¯s just got himself a submachine gun now, he may be about to start some shit. You got one good case here, don¡¯t be thinking you¡¯re not crazy or that any of these ties together¡­it¡¯s not a conspiracy, There''s no organization, but the case of the ghost with the 45 certainly needs answers. Let¡¯s work on that and ignore the rest of the old nonsense cases.¡± She said starting some coffee and grabbing a chair.

 Chapter 3: Kindered Spirits

    The kid looked around the place. The old cabin looking like a palace compared to the streets.

    ¡°Nice digs, kinda way out in the nowhere but cool. You got a guest room?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I got a couch.¡± Mike said with a yawn. ¡°Don¡¯t touch the record player or the rifle, don¡¯t go in my bedroom if i''m in there."

    ¡°So did you make a mile plus headshot with this shitass little 22 you keep unloaded over the fireplace?¡± She asked,

    ¡°Ignore the gun, look at the scope. That scope is worth more than the rifle. The 200 dollar used rifle is basically a display stand for the 1500 dollar scope. You think that¡¯s the gun I use? A little Ruger 10-22? Come on back to the van. Let¡¯s see what kind of toys I got lying around.¡± He grinned.

    He lifted the table-top off and got out his new MP5 clone out, magazines and ammo, placing it back and locking it into place.

    ¡°Holy shit. That¡¯s a real damn MP5." Tanner gasped.

    ¡°Arms deal in the woods, I¡¯m guessing they were asking 30 to 40 grand for the 4, and calling it a steal like it was a favor. Modded MP5k. Way too good for gangbangers. Of course, both of the survivors are probably in prison right now. Their boss and the 3 arms dealers went back to hell with a double tap 45 soft point to the torso. They¡¯re very dead. I just picked this up because unmarked guns like these are rare and useful in my line of work. Shame it wasn¡¯t a 45. I really would have preferred a new 45. Maybe they make a conversion kit.¡±

    ¡°You serious right now? Are you killing 4 people per worknight?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Most work nights I get 1 or 2. Getting 4 and a free gun is a good night.¡± Mike chuckled. ¡°Very good night.¡±

    ¡°You some kind of retired secret agent, turned hitman?¡± Tanner asked, half impressed, half nervous.

    ¡°Secret agent no, hitman, yes. And my boss apparently thinks you¡¯d make a good replacement for me some day. I am turning 51, it may not be that far in the future. You and I have similar sins, we don¡¯t regret. Defending yourself wasn¡¯t a sin, what I do isn¡¯t either. Still think you¡¯re a bit too young for this. What are you¡­16, 17?¡± he asked.

    ¡°AH!¡± she gasped dramatically. ¡°I am very offended and flattered, but also I get that a lot, I¡¯m almost 20, but looking young comes in handy when you¡¯re homeless and turning tricks, and it comes in handy when trying to lure in creeps. Makeup and attitude is, like, half the trap. First time was self-defense. Got a rush, Kinda into it, second time was an opportunity, and then I actually had to plan shit, euugh, gross. Prepwork." she rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Obviously not enough, You¡¯d be in jail if I wasn¡¯t tracing your steps and fixing them. Man upstairs saw potential, I just followed orders. Frankly, I think you got the spirit and the instinct but your planning is terrible.¡± Mike critiqued. "I basically saved your ass."

    ¡°Okay, thanks or whatever. What, do you want, a free blowy so we can call it square or you just wanna lure that over me for leverage for the rest of your life?¡±

    ¡°Leverage.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°Fuck¡­that takes so much longer than a blowjob. So the man upstairs running things, thinks I¡¯m raw potential? You work for the government or something?¡±

    ¡°No, I told you. I get my orders from God.¡± Mike shrugged.

    ¡°See, now were getting back into the part that worries me. I know we¡¯re both serial killers, but do we really have to add voices to our reputation and tarnish the whole stereotype?"

    ¡°What are the odds I hit a random girl who doesn¡¯t get hurt, who happens to be the girl God told me to find? And how did I know you were a killer? Felt good didn¡¯t it? Felt powerful. You don¡¯t regret it, because he deserved to die. In fact, he may have not even been human, but if you killed him with a knife he likely was, or at least mostly.¡± Mike said

    ¡°Just get weirder every sentence with you old man, don¡¯t it?¡± She marveled.

    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re just getting started. See, I was scared shitless to meet you, because if I found you, I¡¯d have to train you. Then you stepped in front of my van. I kill monsters that hurt people because someone has to, or they keep doing it. You do the same thing, you weren¡¯t looking for me, so what made you step out into the road? Just took a weird step, felt a nudge, didn¡¯t see the headlights? Do you even remember? Was there a strange push? You believe in God?¡±

    ¡°No, but I¡¯m getting more open-minded.¡±

    ¡°Do you have any experience with a gun?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Yea, tons. Call of Duty, Doom, Borderlands. Played all of that shit till I ran away. Stole this sexy little snatchgun from a pimp, I¡¯ve fired it 3 times at a tree, hit about where I wanted.¡±

    ¡°Can we call it something other than that?¡± he sighed.

    ¡°No, Mister fancy guns. It¡¯s a snatchgun and her name is Carrie¡­like concealed Carrie, and also I fucking love that movie and this gun has red accents. That¡¯s just poetic genius on multiple levels of creativity.¡±

    ¡°I hate to ask, but I assume you named your knife?¡±

    ¡°Stabby.¡± She said dryly. ¡°Or Stabbitha if you wanna be proper.¡±

    ¡°Are we sure she¡¯s the one? Stabby the clown is my replacement?¡± he asked the ceiling with annoyance.

    ¡°Oah, whoa, hold the phone, Pope Magnum the 4<sup>th</sup>. Stabby the clown? The fuck? Do you know nothing of culture? I¡¯m a geisha, not a clown. Stabby is my Tanto butterfly knife, I know that¡¯s not traditional, and I got it at Hot Topic, but it¡¯s pretty and it¡¯s small, and I got really good with it, and it¡¯s totally what a killer geisha would rock. Respect the drip.¡±

    ¡®What is that, an STD?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Oh¡­your God! My Sensei has lived under a rock. Did you have internet under your rock, gramps? Are you gonna teach me the ways of the mile-plus shot from our rock?¡± she asked, crossing her arms adorably.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna learn a lot of things. I believe God would send me a fast learner since he knows I¡¯m a busy man and getting up there in age for this.¡± Mike sighed.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°You actually wanna train me to kill people for God?¡± Tanner said, looking baffled. "Like for real?"

    ¡°Not exactly. Sometimes I kill, but these people aren¡¯t people anymore, kid. There are a lot of things most people don¡¯t understand about this world. Tanner, have you seen the world we live in? Celebrities and crooked cops, political giants and rich bastard that get away with everything; and the system doesn¡¯t ignore it, it works FOR them. There¡¯s being an asshole sometimes, we all do that. Being human, making mistakes, and then there¡¯s something truly evil. In an evil world, True evil is power, and there¡¯s a whole organization of them. Illuminati, dark underground billionaire clubs, you think Epstein Island was just a fluke? I don¡¯t understand all of the details because I don¡¯t need to, it¡¯s not my job. I¡¯m not a leader, I¡¯m the cleanup crew. There are more of us out there acting for God than you know. We just never cross paths or speak about it. Talking gets you caught.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re just people. Evil, sick people, sure, some of them deserve what they got, but how do you know who¡¯s bad enough? Isn¡¯t that playing God, making that decision? Defending yourself is one thing, I¡¯m just acting as bait for predators. If they don¡¯t bite, I don¡¯t stab. Most of my clientele leaves happy and still with a head attached, minus some cash. You¡¯re actively hunting randos.¡± Tanner noted.

    ¡°I don¡¯t make the decisions on who dies. I just listen, and confirm, and then execute. Here, you know what this is?¡± mike asked, tossing something small and heavy.

    ¡°Night vision goggles.¡±

    ¡°Specifically, Thermal goggles. That¡¯s why I checked your temperature. Human beings are warm living animals full of blood and a beating heart, they show up 98.6, give or take a little. No different than a deer or a stray dog, they have warmth. You know the humming bird has the highest natural body temperature, at 108 degrees. Some lizards in the desert can survive with a body temperature of 115, but not well, or for long, it¡¯s still lethal. It¡¯s lethal for humans too, you die at 109 unless you get very lucky and to a hospital immediately, you won¡¯t even be functional over 105, you¡¯d be delirious and an absolute mess. Last week I tracked a group of people running a small drug operation. Young wanna-be gang bangers, People. Human beings like you or me, who made bad decision and hurt others, but human nonetheless. 97-99 degrees, all 6 of them, except one.¡± He said grabbing his notebook. ¡°127 degrees. He was having a conversation and watching the news, drinking a beer and watching porn. Casually living his life as if nothing was wrong, ten degrees above ER admission levels. Nobody runs that hot.¡±

    ¡°Are you trying to actually tell me, that you are hunting possessed people, and that God is guiding you to kill the evil people based on body temperature?¡±

    ¡°No, he gives me clues and a voice in my head, the thermal just confirms the target. When in doubt, thermal. I never killed a man that wasn¡¯t medically dead from heat stroke ten degrees ago, and they¡¯re always the worst people you ever imagined. Every time God tells me to kill someone, they¡¯re always running hot. I check the papers and the police reports after. Never a decent human being, not in 77 kills.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s specific enough to know you keep track. When did it start?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Right after my wife and kid were murdered. Random break in, I didn¡¯t have a gun in the house. See, I didn¡¯t like guns. My grandpa was a gunsmith. He went nuts and killed himself when I was 12, and my father was a preacher that didn¡¯t like me very much and thought that the best way to share God¡¯s love was with a belt and an empty stomach if you did anything the book didn¡¯t like. The book doesn¡¯t like anything when someone hateful is reading it. Can¡¯t imagine why mom left him so early. Kicked me out at 18, got a job at a church cleaning up after hours. That¡¯s when God started speaking to me. Not often, but the voice was always right. I followed that all the way to my own little congregation, the whole bit. Sermons, volunteering, fell in love with a gal named Gwen, had a daughter, Rachel, perfect life. She was about 15. And then the voice told me to go back to my grandfather¡¯s house. You know what I found there?¡±

    ¡°Dead bodies.¡± Tanner said dramatically.

    ¡°No. A gun. He was a gunsmith, not a murderer. The place was abandoned for decades. But I found blueprints and gunsmithing books and a hidden safe in the garage wall with some cash and a very strange folder full of drawings. He was obsessed with this military rifle he had been designing for years, built a prototype of it. Turns out he actually did work for the government, maybe they were after him. The voice told me to take it. Take the gun. Of course, guns kill people, like school kids and store clerks and my grandfather. So I left it there. I gave the money to a charity and didn¡¯t think much of it. Next week my family was dead because some assholes decided to rob a preacher who didn¡¯t own a gun. God warned me, I didn¡¯t listen. Our wonderful justice system didn¡¯t have enough evidence to convict a man who killed 2 innocent people, just breaking and entering.¡±

    ¡°So... you killed him.¡±

    ¡°Not immediately. I got the gun taken apart and cleaned up, and took it to the middle of nowhere and the damn thing still worked. Barely. Jammed like a son of a bitch, every few shots, but it always fired the first round after a magazine change. I went to a gun store and asked for the best scope they had. Couldn¡¯t afford it, asked for the best I could get for what I had, and they guy hands me this thermal scope. I had no idea what it was, but I bought it. Put it on the prototype, took some practice shots and again, it always fired once and jammed after a few more.

    One night God told me to take it out and lead me to an abandoned building. Guess who just happened to be there? The guy who killed my wife and daughter. Selling some stolen shit to some random assholes like you and me, who made mistakes and were in the wrong place and the wrong building. I didn¡¯t wanna kill the wrong guy. God said nothing, so I turned on the scope and prayed if I got one shot, I got the one I wanted. And there in the scope was a cluster of red warm bodies, and one white-hot glowing target like a damn signal flair. I knew it was him. I fired one shot, right to the face, and the gun jammed, the son of a bitch dropped, and someone else started firing, and I ran like hell with a jammed gun. The satisfaction was indecribable, like a drug addiction. So when the voice came back again, I listened. I kept hearing the voice telling me to hunt, and I always find one of these glowing fuckers. My grampa was onto them somehow too, but I don¡¯t know how, and he thought they were government operatives from some secret project. Area 51, Kennedy assassination level nonsense, but through the craziness, he knew something was going on and nobody believed him. But the voice has never lied to me, it knows things I can¡¯t know, and it leads me to people with sketchy ties to strange places and money, organized people, and they glow in the thermal, every time. I¡¯ve taken shots of faith, cried myself to sleep thinking I made a mistake, and then found out the next day in the news the dead guy was selling off young boys to wealthy clients, or planning to bomb a hospital. Horrendous people, inhuman, beyond evil, beyond the kind of tempting sins we normal people would ever even consider. Even you.¡±

    ¡°Oh blow me, Padre. But seriously, keep going.¡±

    ¡°Now I don¡¯t question it anymore, and I¡¯ve gotten good at it. The prototype is perfected, the process has become an art, and I love my job. God is a strict boss, but he gives you what you need. Once you start listening and doing it.¡± Mike said with a look of achievement.

    ¡°What if, hypothetically, you¡¯re just crazy and killing bad people like me, and delusional because you couldn¡¯t save your family?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Then I guess I¡¯m the luckiest hitman alive, and I have inhuman hunches that never seem to fail. I even hit you, and I wasn¡¯t aiming for you or holding a gun.¡±

    ¡°Mostly why I¡¯m still open-minded. So let¡¯s say I don¡¯t believe most of it. If I don¡¯t even really believe in God, You still wanna train me to kill horrible people? Because every guy I killed was a rapist. If you¡¯re insane and they still go down¡­I don¡¯t give a damn about faith and voices. If it works, it works.¡± Tanner shrugged.

    ¡°I had the same stubbornness at your age. You¡¯ll mature, and understand. I have faith that some day you won¡¯t need me, you¡¯ll hear his voice too. Just listen to it.¡±

    ¡°Oh I really sure do hope so.¡± Tanner smirked. ¡°Whatever helps you sleep. Now let¡¯s hit the range with that HK. I wanna put some suppressed 45 rounds in some sick bastards.¡± She grinned. ¡°Not that I don¡¯t also love Stabbitha.¡±

    ¡°Oh you won¡¯t be using any 45 rounds. The 45¡¯s get you caught.¡± Mike said.

    ¡°So I have to my Snatchgun?¡± She asked.

    ¡°No. You¡¯ll be using the HK45.¡± Mike corrected coldly.

    ¡°Yea, you lost me, again, Holyman the hitman.¡± She pondered. ¡°We¡¯re using the 45 gun but not using 45 bullets because 45¡¯s get you caught, so you carry a... 45¡­I just ...can¡¯t with that tonight. Maybe you hit me harder than I thought. Do I have a concussion?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna make sense. Give it some time and faith.¡± Mike smiled, "but tonight we both need to crash and reset. It¡¯s been a long day. Bed or couch?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Wherever you want me, Captain. No biting, 500 bucks cash.¡±

    ¡°Different wording of the question. Pick one, I¡¯ll take the other, and I don¡¯t charge you for breakfast.¡±

    ¡°Okay, that works too.¡± She nodded.

 Chapter 4: The Range

    ¡°Morning.¡± Smiled Mike. ¡°Sleep well?¡±

    ¡°Little hung-over, nothing I haven¡¯t had before.¡± she groggily groaned.

    ¡°Well, here are some eggs, you need the protein. We need to start as soon as possible training you on the basics. You¡¯ve met one of the team so far. This is Rachel, my HK45.¡± Mike said, presenting the familiar handgun.

    ¡°Stupid name for a gun.¡± Tanner huffed.

    ¡°It was my daughter¡¯s name, remember?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Lovely name for a murder weapon. Beautiful name. S-tier name.¡± She cringed. ¡°And I¡¯m sure this gun is very special.¡±

    ¡°Actually the gun itself isn¡¯t very special, it¡¯s what else is in the gun case that makes it special. Lesson number 1 about killing people. Never just kill someone with a normal gun you don''t intend to destroy. No matter how good you are, no matter how careful you are, there will always be evidence of you left behind, and I¡¯ve cleaned yours. All guns are unique, and if I killed someone with a regular HK45, Forensics would find the bullet, determine it was a 45acp round from this style gun. The grooves in the barrel that spin the bullet will match the unique gun, and now you¡¯re fucked. Now you could use the gun, dispose of the gun, melt the barrel down. Cost about 800 bucks minimum, ruins a perfectly good gun for one kill, paper trail buying new ones. So when the cops ask where your HK45 is, and you say it was lost or stolen, or you don¡¯t know¡­well that¡¯s suspicious as hell, you may as well turn yourself in.¡±

    ¡°So only buy black market guns.¡± Tanner suggested, shoveling scrambled eggs down.

    ¡°From whom¡­ Mister Black Market, the conveniently blind and deaf guy we all know that doesn¡¯t talk, who can¡¯t be interrogated or bribed? No matter where you bought a gun, someone saw you buy a gun. Even if they don¡¯t know your name, they have a description, cash payment, police can still track that gun down, and now you match a description of a guy who illegally bought the same gun that was used in a crime you were a suspect in. People talk, serial numbers trace, no gun is a true ghost gun unless you made it yourself, and making guns isn¡¯t easy, you wouldn¡¯t spend all that time making one for a single use and dispose of it.¡± Mike informed.

    ¡°Not if you stole it¡­¡± she said, stretching her arms and displaying the snatchgun. ¡°And the guy you stole it from is dead. So¡­checkmate. No record.¡±

    ¡°And you could be arrested for jaywalking and just having that. The moment you fire that gun at a living being and commit a crime, that gun is hot and ready to burn you. Kinda hard to melt down a steel barrel before you get back home too, what if they stop you on the way home from the crime scene?¡± he asked, making her look uncomfortable.

    ¡°So then, what makes Rachel so special? Where did you get her?¡±

    ¡°Bought her at a legal dealer for home defense, and bought one box of target ammo, one box of self-defense signed my legal name and FBI recorded everything, so it¡¯s legally registered in my name.¡± he noted.

    ¡°I soo don¡¯t get it. That¡¯s the worst idea ever, Mikey.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like it. That¡¯s why it¡¯s brilliant. Nobody is gonna register a gun and then commit a series of murders with it. You¡¯d have to be one dumb bastard. Too dumb to pull off the job. However, nobody whose wife and kid died in a shooting is going to live without a gun for protection, so not owning any guns, when my grandfather was a gunsmith and my childhood was around guns, that¡¯s suspicious in itself. So the first thing I did was ask for a good home defense gun, shoot it a few times at a local range, and that¡¯s where I got Rachel here. If the cops ask if I own any guns, I do, I have a pretty normal 45 handgun registered in my name for home defense, and a personal carry license, as well as the 22 on the wall for target practice. That¡¯s as normal and legal as it can get, and if I had to defend myself with her, right now she¡¯s loaded with 45 hollowpoints from Freedom Street Guns and Ammo, still got the receipt taped to the box. Now here¡¯s the special part.¡± He smiled, removing the padding from the case and revealing a row of shiny copper tubes.

    ¡°Now I¡¯m really confused.¡± Tanner sighed.

    ¡°Good, that¡¯s the idea. Everyone should be. These are specialized high-copper bronze alloy barrel inserts. Externally, they all fit perfectly down an HK45 barrel and stick out the end enough for a threaded nut that fits standard hardware store pipe fittings. That means they can be threaded into standard hardware store pipe fittings and the threads can be cut with standard hardware store dies. The kind any handyman might have¡­well, just conveniently handy. Threads like one might use to make a home-made untraceable copper silencer as well, theoretically.¡± He said screwing on the silencer. ¡°These inserts allow the gun to fire custom rounds, anything smaller than 45acp. So 40 cal, 10mm, 9mm, or anything I made up just to confuse the cops. The rifling matches the inserts, not the barrel. So when you¡¯re done you just melt down the insert, drop in a fresh one. I make them on the lathe, multiples in advance. The shell casings are made of a cast magnesium and alloy propellant, no gunpowder, so they burn up when you fire them, all you eject is a flash of smoke. No brass to pick up. Anything with a 45 caliber rim can be necked down to any other caliber, matching these inserts. These here are disposal sticks.¡± He said, producing a flair from his pocket.

    ¡°Looks like a road flair.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°That¡¯s because it¡¯s a road flair, with a hole in the middle and enough thermite to melt the inserts. So before I do my job, I select the caliber I want, pop in a fresh insert, take a flair with me. When I¡¯m done, I pop the insert into the flair. If I had cops on my tail, set the flair off. Toss it somewhere, evidence melts down. They could find me, bring me in 2 minutes after the killing, all I have is a personal carry 45, I legally bought, that hasn¡¯t been fired that day, no gunpowder residue on my hands or the gun, not since the last range day, and I was just suspiciously in the area of a crime where someone was shot with a 357, or a 10mm pistol. But officer¡­ this is a 45, I have my pink card right here, is there a problem?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s brilliant. And you don¡¯t have to buy special supplies for these?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my own secret alloy blend, Melts easy, stands up to any normal bullet for a few clips, I cast them myself. I have a drawer full of 5 inch by half inch rods marked ¡°punches¡± with the Kennedy tool box. You could even use them for punches, actually. All made my memory by hand, on the mini-lathe, few little tools I made, nothing left of the evidence but chips I can throw in the casting bags and re-melt for more, along with the used ones. Sometimes I just bore them out larger and put new rifling in to save time. The ammo is the hard part to make, but if you make your shots count, it¡¯s worth it. We¡¯ll get to that part. The Silencers are also disposable, mostly made of plumbing parts, a little custom lathe work. Time-consuming and tedious, but tossable, you could unscrew the parts and throw them away in 3 different spots as you went, nobody would connect them or even know they were part of a weapon unless you saw them assembled. So Rachel is just an ordinary HK45, legally owned by a guy with a carry license, and with this handful of parts, she becomes an untraceable assassination tool that in seconds can be torn apart and reassembled, and the police could never tie it to a crime.¡± Explained Mike.

    ¡°Okay what did you really do before this? Black Ops, Russian KGB, military weapon designer for fucking¡­spy agencies?¡± asked Tanner.

    ¡°I was a pastor at a small church, did plumbing on the side for extra money. Finn Plumbing Repair. Just like it says on the van registration.¡±

    ¡°So you just¡­invented your own assassin cheat code, pulled some special alloy out of your ass that melted down easy and stood up to gunfire, learned explosives and reloading and woke up one day thinking this would be impossible to trace, I should kill people with these. Bullshit.¡± She scoffed. ¡°No way.¡±

    ¡°I learned a little gunsmithing from my grandfather. The brilliant spy shit, I just listened to the voice of God and did what he said. The fact that it all works does a good job of strengthening your faith. The first time you try it, oh boy, there is some real doubt creeping up your back and making you think¡­am I just insane? And then it works, and it shouldn¡¯t, everything just happens like it should, and you realize you had no way of accidentally knowing that. Crazy people believe they can do things, when you actually can, you¡¯re not crazy, you¡¯re just correct. My grandfather used to say¡­it¡¯s only paranoid if you¡¯re wrong about it. If you¡¯re right, that¡¯s just being smart.¡±

    "So what about the rest of the evidence? DNA, hair, footprints, blood. How does God make that vanish?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Dumpster diving for old shoes and cutting off the treads, random sizes, shred and burn them later. I don¡¯t wax my beard just to look snazzy, the wax I use sticks it down and washes off in the shower, masks and hats works well too. Leather work gloves for fingerprints, and as for DNA, I don¡¯t fuck or bleed on the job, so there¡¯s not exactly a lot of blood and semen to trace back. The blood tends to belong to the body. Vary up your tactics, watch some movies, copy what someone else has done, and omit the flaws. I¡¯ll even discard some empty brass. Leave some clues of my own just to screw with forensics. They probably have 200 suspects with no motives or ties to the closed cases they gave up on, and have no idea any of them are even connected. Just random killings, a lot of crime goes unsolved, that¡¯s why I do what I do. Because the laws don¡¯t work right. If they worked right, there¡¯d be no need. I would just be a plumber.¡± Mike shrugged.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°So bad people get away with shit, and God does the crooked system¡¯s dirty by hiring you. Where does the money come from¡± This shit can¡¯t be cheap.¡±

    ¡°Gambling. Online mostly, horse races, I avoid casinos tables except as a cover, they cheat too much to really win more than you lose.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re a Holyman, a hitman and you got a gambling system? Shit, just do the gambling thing, get rich, and stop risking your ass all the time.¡± Sighed Tanner.

    ¡°Risking my ass is part of the job, as long as I listen to God and don¡¯t deviate, there¡¯s no risk. So it¡¯s a game of temptation, and not getting greedy. And there¡¯s no gambling scam, it¡¯s all legit gambling, people win all the time. I just listen to what God wants me to bet on and when I stop winning, I know I have enough. Greed and thinking you¡¯re in charge is how you get cocky and caught. Betting a little more for your own personal gain is how you start losing your money. God doesn¡¯t give you tips and hints to have new cars and a mansion on the beach, he does it so you can make a living and afford to do your real job.¡±

    ¡°Funny, God gives a lot of mega-church pastors mansions and cars. Why not you?¡± She questioned.

    ¡°Those people are the fuckers we kill. So God clearly doesn¡¯t favor them too much, or he wouldn¡¯t keep sending me to their mansions, would he? Those are the people ruining this world. The crooked billionaires, the corporate CEOs that think they can abuse their employees and the politicians and bishops fondling kids thinking that God don¡¯t know it. You wanna know the secret? He doesn¡¯t know everything that will ever happen, just X number of many moves ahead, and he doesn¡¯t have infinite power. He has the power to help and change our lives, but we don¡¯t listen or believe anymore, so more people ignore than obey, and sometimes you gotta send the flood to clean the mess and start over.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re Noah?¡± She smirked. ¡°With your big boat?¡± she eyebrowed.

    ¡°No. I¡¯m the rain. Just a few drops of cleaning potential sent by God like many others that add up and start to pool. I just listen to him when he says when and where to fall and whose head to land on. Some people water crops, some people keep the rivers flowing, and some of us drown pedophiles. Frankly, I enjoy my work.¡±

    ¡°So if that¡¯s the gun named after your daughter, where¡¯s the gun named after your wife?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t need to meet her yet. My Rachel was a very sweet girl, quiet and discreet but with a fiery passion for life. My wife was a force to recon with. If you get to meet Gwen it either means you¡¯re ready to start doing my job for me, or we¡¯re in some serious shit, because when Gwen gets angry, you¡¯ll know it. She tends to make noise.¡±

    ¡°I like her already. Where do you get bullets at? Looks suspicious as hell if you¡¯re buying reloading bullets for guns you don¡¯t own in every caliber a crime was committed in except the one gun you have.¡± Tanner noted.

    ¡°Very observant question. Let¡¯s go for a drive, I¡¯ll show you.¡± Mike said, ruffling her hair.

    The van pulled up on a foggy morning to an old shooting range, the sound of guns going off in the background. Mike rolled the window down as the man at the gate waddled over.

    ¡°Just let me do the talking.¡± He whispered. ¡°Hey frank. How is the knee?¡±

    ¡°Oh, bad as usual, Mike. Range closes at noon on Sunday.¡±

    ¡°I know, It¡¯s just, work has been hell lately and with all the cold weather and people firing up their furnaces, the problems never cease. How bout you take that daughter of yours out to a nice dinner on me.¡± He said handing him a 50.

    ¡°Mike you know I hate taking your money like that, but money is tight and I appreciate it. You plan to stay long? Gun rack is already locked up for the day, so I can¡¯t let you play with the new toys.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I brought my own ammo. Just came to spend some time with Rachel and a new friend of mine.¡±

    ¡°Well, lock the gate when you¡¯re done,¡± said the old timer, making his way to the car to go home. The window rolled back up.

    ¡°You got connections?¡± Tanner asked. "Is he your Alfred?"

    ¡°Old frank is 91, he makes almost nothing with his little gun store and outdoor range. I got his daughter all new gas lines put in for practically free a while back. You treat people nice, they treat you nice back. He knows I don¡¯t like the crowd, knows about my wife and kid, so I show up at closing sometimes, and he locks the store, lets me use the range. I buy ammo from him, tip well, and I bring the metal detector and pick up some extra brass casings. He thinks I¡¯m selling for the scrap metal, so I pay him half the imaginary scrap, and it keeps the range cleaner. I also pick the lock, and steal a few rounds of surplus raw bullets from the reloading bins. I always give more than I take, and lock the gate when I go. Sometimes we just talk and shoot. It¡¯s slow, but it works, and it leaves no paper trail, unlike the wrapped rounds I make. You can take a clean bullet and tap it through a barrel cutter and make any rifling you want, with a little practice. Just wrap it in a little news paper and fire it through a slightly oversized barrel, paper just tears up or burns. I can put a 32ACP barrel insert in my 45, make a few pre-rifled and wrapped Ak47 bullets in a 45 magnesium case, load them both in the same clip with the same barrel, shoot someone with the AK round, finish the next guy off with a 32acp in half a second, ballistics can¡¯t tell that it was from the same barrel, 2 rapid shots and walk away, looks like 2 shooters with different guns. Possibilities are endless.¡±

    ¡°Any chance I can get my own custom inserts for Carrie?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Kid, give me one night, and I¡¯ll have new inserts made. I¡¯ll let you use the MP5 if need be. You¡¯ll need the extra firepower until you get more accurate."

    ¡°Hey, Preach¡­¡±

    ¡°Mike.¡± He said, handing her the HK. "Just Mike"

    ¡°Okay Just Mike. Just curious. If you believe, these people aren¡¯t human anymore, they don¡¯t even have human body temperatures. What happens after they die? You ever examine one?¡± she asked, taking a few shots at the target. Mike pondered the idea.

    ¡°I guess I assumed when you kill one, whatever evil in them that dies just leaves behind the human body, like the person was before. I never thought about it.¡± he pondered further.

    ¡°You never thought about dissecting one, finding out what they really are? Government project, aliens, vampires, you never thought to crack one open and see if they have anything different? I mean they¡¯re dead, so if the body just turns back human, what¡¯s dissecting a dead asshole to a guy who decapitates em with hollowpoints?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Shit, now you got me curious.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°You know there¡¯s only one way to find out. Bag one and go digging. You have any labs or anything, industrial buildings you own for storing shit?¡± She smirked.

    ¡°Kid, I¡¯m not batman, I make slightly more than most plumbers, I have a hidden tornado shelter under my bed, barely big enough to make ammo and move around. I have a truck, and 2 vans. Little house in the woods.¡± he explained.

    ¡°I actually know some places that might work. I¡¯ve been to places for drug deals and sold a few stolen handguns in some shady spots. Not a lot of people go there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re really asking to get caught keeping a body. I stay a ghost because I hit and move. I¡¯ve never stored a body. The bodies stay where they drop.¡±

    ¡°Well, if God thinks I¡¯m your best replacement, maybe it¡¯s because I have ideas you¡¯re too oldschool and fixed to try. Come on, man. I don¡¯t even know if I believe this demonic stuff, and you don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re hunting. Maybe it¡¯s time to mix up the game and see what they¡¯re made of. God sent you a cutie killer, and you won¡¯t even get any use out of that, so at least give my ideas a test run. If they¡¯re anything but another dead guy, I might stop being so skeptical. Nothing jumpstarts faith like proof.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how it works, but you have a point. God provided you for a reason, so it¡¯s worth considering the ideas. Let me think about it. You just hit the target.¡± He said, pondering the concept. ¡°Shame, we don¡¯t have any place to even do that if we wanted.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°I can find a place, trust me. You find the monsters, I¡¯ll provide the laboratory.¡±

    ¡°What the hell do you know about body disposal locations. You always left victims where you killed them.¡± Mike inquired.

    ¡°I¡¯m a deranged teenage tweaker with the internet. Never underestimate the internet, gramps. There¡¯s youtube channels just dedicated to people who search and spelunk abandoned underground tunnels and shit. Warehouses, factories, entire abandoned malls. I bet I can find a video with like no views in the last 2 years, places nobody cares about. We break in, set up shop, put some locks and chains on the doors. Plenty of places to get high and fuck for cash, that are off limits and unguarded. Abandoned prisons and maintenance crap. I¡¯ve seen lots of those videos. Give me 24 hours and a bottle of vodka, I¡¯ll find us a place to crack open a monster. If it¡¯s anticlimactic, we just leave them there.¡± She said taking a few more shots with the big MP5. ¡°Damn I love this gun, not really concealable tho, is it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a free unregistered gun, don¡¯t look a gift submachine gun in the mouth.¡± Mike said taking a few shots with it, feeling the heft. ¡°But we do have to get you some field experience soon. Something easy, low profile. I got a list of potential targets in the basement, in case I run out of high profile work. You think you¡¯re ready?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Does a priest shit in the woods?¡± Smirked tanner.

    ¡°I¡¯m ignoring that and pretending you just said yes.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I said this yet, but¡­thanks.¡± she smiled.

    ¡°For hitting you with a van and making you work it off?¡± Smiled Mike.

    ¡°No seriously. I didn¡¯t really have much of a life, and I don¡¯t have any friends that I can say truly have my back if shit got weird. I respect that you¡¯re not just treating me like a dumb child, or some useless addict¡­or worse. Some psychopath. I slept in a bed and felt safe for the first time in a while, instead of sleeping with one eye open at some flop house or an abandoned Arbee¡¯s hoping not to get stabbed or robbed. You¡¯re a good guy. Maybe too good. You might bend that a little, just suggesting.¡±

    ¡°Yea, you think?¡± he nodded. ¡°Just us alone at night armed and dangerous, you think I should just go for it and do something wild?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Party at the range.¡± Tanner said, eyebrows raised.

    ¡°I¡¯m 51 and harboring a homeless serial killer. You really think I wanna complicate things? Let¡¯s just get the metal detector out and find some treasures.¡±

    ¡°Passing up this treasure right now, but okay.¡± She said, making a face at him as his back turned. ¡°Little temptation never got anyone in trouble.¡±

    ¡°Temptation is literally what gets people in trouble.¡± Mike reminded.

    ¡°Yea, but I¡¯m fun trouble, and you¡¯re stuck with me.¡± She winked.

    ¡°Most of that is definitely true.¡± He said grabbing the shovel.

 Chapter 5: Carrie and Joe

    ¡°Oh yea, your insurance deductible has to be that or more. They probably won¡¯t even pay out. Here, take this.¡± He said getting some cash out. ¡°If you report it, the police won¡¯t do anything, but insurance HAS to be contacted then. Insurance will pile you with paperwork. God forbid someone hurts someone with it, and they tie it back to your shop, the red tape will be a nightmare. You don¡¯t need this mess. Some poor kid¡¯s life may depend on that gun. Just take the money.¡±

    ¡°Noooo, Mike. You¡¯re a good man, I can¡¯t just take your money.¡±

    ¡°Now you saved me at least 300 bucks on the HK when I got it, Frank. Out of the goodness of your heart, because I didn¡¯t have the money on me back then. Now the other day I went to the casino and made 1700 dollars, and you know what I do with those winnings? I give back to the community. That¡¯s not money I worked hard for, that¡¯s a blessing to spread. God doesn¡¯t give me that kinda luck so I can get rich, he does it so I can help people like you who can¡¯t afford things. Consider it God¡¯s money to make up for a legal system that doesn¡¯t work and crooked insurance scammers, I¡¯m just delivering it. If God wants to pay me back, I¡¯ll get lucky again at the casino on Friday. I¡¯d say the odds of me making it back are higher than the insurance claims, giving you the full amount and not raising your premiums. People steal every day. You got the guns to sell, so, now got money, the gun is gone¡­what¡¯s the difference in the long run?¡± Mike reasoned.

    ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough, Mike. It¡¯s so hard to make an honest living anymore. With people the way they are now, kids on the street hookin, insurance companies raising rates and my damn fixed income not goin up with inflation, I just can¡¯t afford the troubles. Bless you. This is why I let you shoot here free and never charge you a membership. Thank you.¡± He smiled.

    ¡°Thank God for it. I¡¯m just the delivery boy who listens to my boss.¡± He said, winking at Tanner.

    The sounds of Jazz played as Mike finished his lathe work, lightly blowing the metal chips off the new barrel insert.

    ¡°So that¡¯s my gun?¡± asked Tanner.

    ¡°That¡¯s your gun. Reinforced slide pins, heavier spring, the muzzle brake threads tighten the barrel inserts in. If you think you¡¯ll get caught, toss that and burn the barrel. Flair in the backpack, as well as a flashlight.¡±

    ¡°My phone has a flashlight, gramps.¡± She muttered.

    ¡°Your phone doesn¡¯t lock onto the muzzle brake and act as a suppressor.¡± he noted.

    ¡°Oh. You know, you¡¯re so convincing as a nice guy that I forget you do this for a living. Does the flashlight work?¡±

    ¡°Yea, pulls right out, guts still work, just pull that out in front of the cops. Now Tanner¡­are you sure you can handle this alone. It¡¯s a lot to take into-¡±

    ¡°Hey¡­I got this. Stop worrying.¡± Tanner assured, admiring the black gun with the little red accents. ¡°And for a garage mod, this is a sexy little gun. You do good work.¡±

    ¡°Get some sleep. I gotta put a few test rounds through it and work on the trigger. In the morning, you¡¯ll have your official kill on this team.¡± He nodded nervously.

    Tanner sat outside the school, getting up from her bench as the students let out and filed from the building like ants. She took a hit from her joint and grabbed her backpack, ready to work. She strolled her way through the building, keeping her head down and blending in like any other student after hours. Avoiding the teachers in the rooms and making her way to the janitor¡¯s closet, checking Mike¡¯s map to be sure. She knocked and waited for an opening. The door opened and a scruffy young man answered.

    ¡°Wrong room. No students allowed back here.¡±

    ¡°Um, actually I¡¯m not a student, I¡¯m friends with Tommy, you know Tommy?¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Kid, I don¡¯t know who the hell Tommy is. If you¡¯re not a student, why the backpack, and why are you in a school?¡±

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s a free country, I got stuff to carry. Stuff to¡­buy maybe. Look, Tommy said you had the hookup. You got Adderall, Oxy?¡± She muttered discreetly.

    ¡°No, not on property. My medication is not your problem. The fuck you think I keep drugs on premise? Get out, little fucking nark.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t recognize me? Man, we did some shit together like a year ago.¡± she said, taking a dramatic pose. "I had longer hair."

    ¡°Wait, you do look familiar.¡± He paused.

    ¡°Tanner.¡±

    ¡°Right, right. Couple of Glocks. You were a blonde back then.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s me, and I got some friends looking for the hook-up, couple of boys I know, they prefer to be anonymous at the moment, we¡¯re gonna hang out in about an hour. Tommy knows a cool place to hang, it¡¯s discreet. You wanna make some money, bring the shit, these kids got parent¡¯s cash, you could make about 2 grand.¡±

    ¡°How many boys?¡± he asked, suppressing his grin.

    ¡°I dunno. 3 and me if nobody pussies out. I¡¯d say at least 2. If they don¡¯t show, I¡¯ll buy everything you got myself and resell.¡± She said, flashing a wad of cash. ¡°Deal?¡±

    ¡°Okay, fine. I¡¯m not really supposed to be around kids, so fuck off, but where¡¯s the place?¡± he asked. Tanner slipped a piece of paper in his pocket and winked. ¡°These kids like to party with cash, don¡¯t be late.¡± He whispered.

    Joe looked at the paper, printed off map with marker directions. He sighed nervously and made his way to his things, packing up and making a quick trip home.

    He waded through the overgrown grass to an abandoned shopping center, small, abandoned and covered in very old worn graffiti. He felt uncomfortable, checking his bottle of pills and looking for the kids. He spotted movement in the building and made his way to a slightly cracked open back door, slipping in and looking around at the dusty old surroundings.

    ¡°Anybody here?¡± he asked, feeling like he got scammed and almost leaving.

    ¡°Just me, Tommy and his friends texted, they are on the way, they got delayed. Come on in.¡± She greeted, waving him on, joint in her mouth and energy drink in hand. Joe stepped into the office, an old, musty room with moldy chairs and broken glass separating the waiting area. Tanner whistled a jazzy tune as she discreetly locked the door and pulled it shut, the knob looking slightly newer than the door itself, and on the wrong way. Lock on the opposite side. She gave a playful spin as Joe stood, looking curious.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Old abandoned dentist¡¯s office. The whole little strip mall got canceled; they rented out the buildings for storage for a year or so and just left it. Place got looted and trashed. There are so many abandoned buildings it¡¯s unreal, but this one is very special. I know it looks like shit, but the back room has been spiffed up a little. She said, leading him along.

    ¡°I see what this is.¡± sighed Joe. ¡°Please tell me you at least brought the money?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I got it, I got plenty.¡±

    ¡°Look, I get that we got some shit in common, but I¡¯m not going to jail over this, and you¡¯re not even my type.¡± Joe huffed. ¡°Nobody¡¯s showing up, are they?¡±

    ¡°Ya got me. It¡¯s just me. I figured we could hang out, catch up, I¡¯ll still buy from ya. I just had to sweeten the temptation a little.¡± Tanner winked. "What, you don¡¯t like a little alone time with a cute thing like me?¡± she batted, dramatically so.

    ¡°Honestly, you¡¯re too old for me.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m fucking insulted. I¡¯m cute as hell and carrying cash.¡±

    ¡°This whole thing just feels like a trap. High school kids, parents money. Cops flipped you, something is wrong. I¡¯m out of here.¡±

    ¡°Yea, I... don¡¯t know that you are, Joe.¡± Tanner smiled.

    ¡°Look, if you were a little more my style, a little less cocky and didn¡¯t give off a huge vibe like you¡¯re wearing a wire, maybe we could hang out, but I¡¯m leaving.¡± He said, turning the knob and realizing it was locked. He sighed, leaning back with annoyance. Turning and raising his shirt to flash the 45 tucked in his holster. Tanner casually drew her pistol and pointed it at his crotch and grinned.

    ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t flash what you can¡¯t unsnap in a hurry. Now you¡¯re gonna hold perfectly still, or I¡¯m putting a hollowpoint in your dick, got it buddy?¡± Tanner asked as Joe slowly held his hands up and Tanner unsnapped and removed the 45.

    ¡°What is this, a robbery or a bust?¡± Joe asked. ¡°Take the gun, It¡¯s not registered in my name. I got nothing on me. Petty cash, some cigarettes, You got no proof I did anything except trespassing, which you are too. Bust me on a 200 dollar fine, bitch.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not with the cops, dumbass. And I¡¯m not robbing¡­well I am technically robbing you now, just the gun, that¡¯s not the main point here. This is a sweet piece actually. Uncle bought this for ya?¡± Tanner said applying the silencer to Carrie and tucking the 45 in her belt, covering with her shirt.

    ¡°What do you want? You got my gun, my smokes, I didn¡¯t bring any pills, you got no evidence I did anything.¡± He asked as Tanner got out the thermal binoculars, checking him head to toe with a big cheesy grin.

    ¡°Well, you made one mistake. You¡¯re just too damn hot to throw back.¡± She said with a sinister tone. ¡°It¡¯s playtime.¡±

    ¡°Put the gun down¡­let¡¯s play fair.¡± Joe instigated.

    ¡°You¡¯re bigger than me, I kinda prefer not playing fair. So¡­¡± she clapped devilishly. ¡°Let¡¯s play a game called fun with duct tape.¡±

 Chapter 6: Heart of the issue.

    Mike stepped into the room, placing down his roll of tools and a small Bluetooth speaker for some ambient music.

    ¡°Nice work kiddo.¡± He said proudly as he suddenly drew his HK, looking confused. ¡°He¡¯s not dead.¡± He noted.

    ¡°I know, right. That¡¯s why I got him cuffed and taped to the table. How great is that? Hot on the thermals, check yourself, fresh pedophile, got your tools. You don¡¯t look excited. Why don¡¯t you look excited? I¡¯m excited.¡± she giggled.

    ¡°I really assumed you¡¯d just kill him. I''m proud of your restraint." Said Mike. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you wanna step out of the room during questioning?¡± he asked.

    ¡°You wanted to see what these things look like on the inside, right? So do I. That¡¯s a live specimen. He beat the shit out of a 13-year-old kid and tried to rape him, you really feel bad about this?¡± Tanner scoffed. ¡°Oh, I get it. You¡¯ve never interrogated anyone like this before, the messy way, have you?¡±

    ¡°Well, no, actually. I just feel like this is usually a way to get caught¡­¡± he said, checking the cuffs and the tape on his ankles as Joe looked worried and struggled. ¡°But you did secure him nicely. I''d prefer you not witness this.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Buzzkillington. I don¡¯t care. I wanna see what¡¯s inside a demon, and the best way to get answers is with Stabby here. Worst case, this is just some regular pedo, not sure I¡¯d call him human exactly. Best scenario, I get to see something WILD I¡¯ve never seen before.¡± She giggled.

    ¡°You know¡­I guess it doesn¡¯t matter. We ID¡¯s the suspect, he¡¯s 127 on the thermals. Honestly, I¡¯m just a little nervous what I¡¯ll find.¡±

    ¡°Why? Afraid you¡¯re just killing horrendous people instead of actual devils? Is that so damn bad? And if he¡¯s full of sharp teeth and brimstone, then I owe you money and that just proved your theory. I get it. He just looks like a guy, but literal or figurative, he¡¯s a monster, and you don¡¯t show your face to them, you pull a trigger and watch the heat fade. You¡¯re new to the butchering side of things. I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll cut him open. Squeamish shit. I thought you were some badass killing machine.¡±

    ¡°Killing is easy, torture and dissection is a little new territory for me. I prefer intimidation, light beating.¡±

    ¡°Okay well then we¡¯ll just walk this rout together, we¡¯re friends, partners, or some shit. I¡¯ll do the weird stuff, you just take notes.¡± She said, getting out her pocket knife and flipping the blade open.

    ¡°No, don¡¯t use that dull piece of shit. I sharpen my own knives, this one¡¯s better.¡± Mike said, handing Tanner the K-Bar and some black butcher¡¯s gloves.¡±

    ¡°May man with the tools.¡± Tanner winked, pressing the blade to Joe¡¯s chest and, with little hesitation, making a shallow cut from sternum to navel as Joe screamed through the muffling duct tape. Mike felt slightly uncomfortable as Tanner bobbed her head to the music and puzzled a moment. ¡°Red blood, red meat. Nothing too far from textbook so far.¡± He shrugged, looking up at the overly focussed priest. ¡°What? How we gonna know anything is inhuman if we don¡¯t know what humans look like on the inside?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Should we maybe ask some questions first and take the tape off his mouth, or do you just get your confessions via Ouija board?¡± he paused.

    ¡°Oh¡­Ya know, I kinda forgot that part entirely. I don¡¯t normally let them talk during this. My whole thing is just killing them. You read my file, you saw the crime scenes. There are no questions except rhetorical mindfuck ones I ask to be scary, and I¡¯m usually in costume once I got them knocked out and taped up.

    ¡°Yea, Murder-Geisha.¡± He said. "Robe, face paint, wig."

    ¡°Aw¡­how did you know? The only people who get to see my outfits don¡¯t live to report it. Have you been stalking meeee?¡± she grinned playfully.

    ¡°Cleaning evidence, remember? Polyester Kimono fibers you snagged on the tape, traced back to a gift card you bought with your name from Dean¡¯s Party Mania.¡±

    ¡°Look, it¡¯s a low budget thing, it¡¯s about the vibe, not the brand.¡± she scoffed.

    ¡°You¡¯re a serial killing hooker that lures in creeps and your persona is a murdergeisha, a hooker that lures in creeps for murder.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a difference.¡± She scoffed. ¡°I mean, I do also use a knife. But this is scarier. And let us not forget style points. Geisha are classy and cool. My props may all be straight up weeb-shit, but I can¡¯t afford good stuff, what, am I just gonna NOT dress up to kill someone? Like at all? Just look like this every time? My makeup takes time anyway, the extra mile for the fun of it is worth it. Especially for photos.¡±

    ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t take crime scene selfies, even if you keep them on a jump drive and not on the cloud, you could lose that, and it¡¯s all over.¡±

    ¡°Look, Mister Plumber man¡­ You chose me. Or god chose me and told you, or you made that up to justify that you kinda like me, and like I get it. We stalk and kill people, we have a lot in common, maybe you¡¯re a closet weeb with a fetish for a cosplay killer who understands you, it¡¯s fine, we¡¯re adults, we¡¯re not doing anything illegal, except the whole¡­the dead people stuff. But I have to take the selfies, otherwise nobody sees the work I put into the outfits except the dead guys.¡±

    ¡°Who do you show the selfies to?¡± he questioned.

    ¡°Well obviously nobody, it¡¯s evidence, but I like to look at them myself, and now maybe you could see them and the¡­well you probably took your own pictures¡­stalker.¡± She smirked, rolling her eyes like she was fake embarrassed.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t watch the murders. I got to the last 3 crime scenes before the cops did to check your work for quality. And it was lacking some professional details.¡±

    ¡°UH! Rude. But be honest, is the outfit scary?¡± she asked, flipping through her phone as Joe sat confused and baffled taped to a chair.

    ¡°It¡¯s not really my area of expertise.¡± Mike admitted.

    ¡°Well, just picture it. Look at me now, boring normal person blending-in outfit, military knife, broad daylight, whole plan and mystery gone, he knows we¡¯re interrogating him for information on his uncle, there¡¯s no surprise there. Now instead imagine you never saw me coming, and you woke up in a dark room somewhere with red mood lighting and a shadowy figure of an Asian fem fatale, bloody and ghostly like she rose from the grave for vengeance. Now imagine it¡¯s YOU tied to the chair, which you probably have, but this time no sexy nun outfit, just Murdergeisha, and you think you¡¯re gonna die. See how that¡¯s way more scary than just Eeuugh, cut, poke, tell me your uncle¡¯s secrets or we¡¯ll kill you in slow and boring ways, like using a gun and shooting you. It¡¯s a whole mood.¡± she explained.

    ¡°Listen¡­ I wasn¡¯t stalking you, especially for my own enjoyment. I was researching potential apprentices and scouting raw talent. I followed the voice of God. You know the other 3 possible recruits I had?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Chainsaw dommy mom, cowgirl with Uzi¡¯s in her assless chaps, or¡­please don¡¯t say nun with a lethal injection kink?¡±

    ¡°A 35 year old accountant who keeps his victims preserved in epoxy table tops, an ex military sniper who hunts in a devil costume and draws pentagrams in blood, he ate some of the bodies. Oh, and a nice clean-cut young man maybe 25 who plays minecraft, has 4 dogs, lives with his mother and turned out to believe he is literally the reincarnated Adolph Hitler.¡± He muttered. Her eye widened and her jaw dropped.

    ¡°¡­fuck. Those were your other options?¡±

    ¡°All completely insane.¡± He sighed in frustration.

    ¡°And all DUDES. What a bummer? Like not one other chick serial killer in the state?¡± she asked. ¡°Actually, that would make me a rare gem. I don¡¯t know if I kinda like being the only rare holographic pokemon in the store¡­or if I hate that men are dominating the industry. Can I be both proud AND pissed off at the skewed ratio?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re missing the point, but no. You¡¯re the only one. The other one got arrested. She was terrible at killing people. Complete forensic shitstorm. The point I was making is that it¡¯s hard to find another serial killer that¡¯s not just¡­insane.¡± he sighed with annoyance as Joe thrashed.

    ¡°Right!?¡± Like have a shtick, or a gimmick or something, but they all just kill random people, like do some good with it. Kill the worst people that deserve it like the guys we hunt¡­or maybe Hitler guy, can we go back to kill the Hitler guy?¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°I shot him in the head with a German Luger round I stole from a museum owned by a guy named Levi Goldberg.¡±

    ¡°Hehe¡­¡± she laugh goofishly ¡°That¡¯s funny. What about epoxy table guy?¡±

    ¡°I thought about it. He was really meticulous about the crime scenes, only killed parents that murdered their kids, but then I broke into his house and found the basement with the tables, and it was just¡­weird. Like slabs of bad taxidermy, over 12 tables, you know he would just be constantly wanting to hang out in the table room and I just can¡¯t see getting used to that.¡±

    ¡°Gross. He¡¯d always be polishing the tables and borrowing your woodworking tools, I get it. So are you saying I¡¯m just the least problematic partner out of the bad options God presented and the fact that you find me attractive has nothing to do with this at all?¡± she said disappointed and a little hurt.

    ¡°Not even a consideration, and I still refuse to comment on your attractiveness or lack of it, because it¡¯s not work appropriate and work comes before recreation.¡±

    ¡°Work comes instead of you¡­.got it. Vow of celibacy.¡± she nodded.

    ¡°I never said that, either. You are assuming a lot of things. Do you remember we have a guy taped to a chair?¡±

    ¡°I know¡­ I¡¯m not stupid. I just never see you open up, and I thought there was a moment of opportunity for some personal growth there.¡± She said pouting. ¡°Go ahead, ask him your questions, I¡¯ll wait. You need a drink, old man?¡± Tanner asked, waving a flask.

    ¡°I don¡¯t drink anymore. Just clouds my mind and faith.¡±

    ¡°Suit yourself," tanner said, taking a swig and pocketing the flask as she ripped off the mouth-gag tape, Joe struggling harder.

    ¡°Your Uncle¡­what is he hiding?¡± asked Mike.

    ¡°Fuck you, priest.¡± Joe spat.

    ¡°How about now?¡± he asked, placing Rachel''s silencer to his head and cocking the hammer.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna kill me anyway, why say anything?¡± Joe shrugged.

    ¡°We¡¯re not gonna kill you if you cooperate, just if you resist.¡± Mike said darkly.

    ¡°NO, No. no.¡± Tanner said moving the gun. ¡°This is what I mean. You¡¯re good at killing, but you¡¯re not scary enough to torture. He doesn¡¯t believe you. He saw our faces, he knows our names, he knows we¡¯re gonna kill him, Mike, he¡¯s got no incentive without the fear aspect. Here¡­this isn¡¯t a precision sniper shot from 2 miles away, this is an artform.¡± She said, pushing the knife into his leg as he screamed and struggled. ¡°Now you see pain is scary, you gotta remind them that we can kill them quickly and painlessly or really slow and weird. Gun to the head is the best case he¡¯s gonna get, he¡¯s not afraid of that. He¡¯s afraid we¡¯re gonna peel the skin off his face or something. Maybe we¡¯ll dismember him limb by limb, you know an undead geisha vibe in the right lighting really sells the fear, Look, he¡¯s way more scared of a 140 pound girl with a knife than a big hitman with a gun, and all I did was stab his leg a little. That¡¯s not even top 10 sensitive spots. We got eyelids, the butthole, we could put a bunch of hornets in a gas mask, he doesn¡¯t know, when you¡¯re a psycho chick in full costume, he wakes up confused and in a chair, and you start cutting before even asking questions, THEN they talk. Right Joe? Where¡¯s the magic button that¡¯s gonna make you rat out your uncle¡­the pee-hole or the b-hole?¡±

    ¡°OKAY, just¡­you¡¯re not asking any questions. Can you be specific?¡± Joe blurted, almost crying.

    ¡°Why is the mayor protecting your stupid ass?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Because I find girls for him. He can¡¯t be seen snooping around, he can''t be tied to the crimes, so he keeps me safe and out of prison and I look for the ones he would like. He has a type, he is very specific.¡± Joe huffed.

    ¡°Raping them, killing them?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Neither. He just keeps them prisoner for a while because I like to degrade and vent. His ex wife took everything, he likes to pretend they are her, and he acts out this weird fantasy where he gets his revenge. I find women that look the part, I bring them to the safehouse, drug them, leave them. He has another guy who takes them after that, I don¡¯t know what he does, but he sure as hell doesn¡¯t let them go. That¡¯s your monster, your killer. Uncle Tim never killed them, I never killed them. They seemed mostly unharmed when he''s done. Then they disappear. I¡¯m a delivery driver, he just roleplay¡¯s telling off the bitch who took his kids away and making her feel helpless and defeated, and then they go away. We¡¯re not the monsters doing the killing.¡±

    ¡°Oh so you¡¯re just feeding the monster to stay out of jail because you groped a 7<sup>th</sup> grader. You¡¯re not that bad then.¡± Tanner huffed sarcastically. ¡°And your uncle is just enjoying some kinky roleplay with abducted women and then passing them off to a finisher. He¡¯s not that bad either. They guy he pays to murder the women you abduct should be the one we¡¯re really after. Just him. Name, description, what does he drive?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know his name, he never says anything, I don¡¯t get to see his home or his driver''s license, I just see a guy in a hoodie with blue gloves, a revolver, wears glasses, There''s always some blonde in the car waiting. He nods and they go away. That¡¯s all I know. Uncle Tim just pays me cash and says to find a new one. The sooner I get one, and the more she looks like his ex-wife, the happier he is, the more money I get, and the more he leaves me alone. I¡¯m the bottom tier of a 3 tier operation. I pull a gun and say: get in the van, and if you say anything, I shoot you and your family, and they just do it. They never even struggle. I park the van, I get my money, pat on the shoulder and ¡°good work, kid¡± and I drive home and forget about it, till he calls me again.¡± Joe finished, waiting for a response.

    ¡°¡­Nah, he¡¯s got more. You got like any rib spreaders or bone saws?¡± She asked Mike as he blankly stared.

    ¡°No! I have plumbing tools and some basic survival supplies, I¡¯m not a surgeon, I¡¯m a hitman.¡± He said, ¡°Then again I do have pipe cutters, the kind you have to twist tighter and keep spinning around the pipe over and over until gradually it cuts the pipes off... or the finger. That gives you 10 tries.¡± He shrugged at Tanner.

    ¡°11 if you really wanna get creative.¡± She winked.

    ¡°I told you everything!¡± Joe wailed, ¡°What more do you want!?¡±

    ¡°Just one more thing. The location. Tanner, get a pencil, he¡¯s gonna write down the address where they take the girls. If you do, you die quick and with all your digits. You¡¯re gonna die regardless, Joe. But you can die right now, no pain, or in a few hours, with all the pain SHE can inflict.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t let her torture me.¡± Joe begged.

    ¡°That¡¯s not my problem. I¡¯m not doing you a favor, I¡¯m doing us a favor. I personally think you deserve to die however she wants to do it, and she wants to do it messy and slow. BUT, I am a man of my word and if it gets us closer to stopping more girls being taken and killed, I accept letting you have the gift of a quicker death. It¡¯s not pity, just business.¡± He said as Joe frantically jotted down the address and was relieved to see Mike prepping a syringe of something.

    ¡°We really gonna go easy on him?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°This is about information, not revenge. We have the information, Now I want the last question answered without him screaming in agony and fighting me the whole time.¡± He said giving him the shot and watching him fade. ¡°He¡¯s out like a light but still alive. Now, let¡¯s see what a monster looks like on the inside while it¡¯s still a monster.¡± He said as Tanner exhaled and smiled.

    ¡°Fucking finally.¡± She said making the incision. ¡°Still looks human so far.¡± She said, reaching in as she sawed at whatever organ she was tethered by, pulling out something meaty. With a little yank she retrieved her prize, going silent, a few twitches later he was dead.

    ¡°Oh now that¡¯s interesting.¡± Mike said, as she held the heart in her gloved hand, charcoal black and still pumping. ¡°What¡­in the depths of hell?¡± muttered Mike, stepping closer as the colorless organ pulsed like something trying to escape a shiny leather bag that had been freshly oiled to a sheen. The heart slowed and stopped, slowly taking on a slight red hue and gradually going dead and pinkish red with a haunting but faint scream.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± She said, looking at Mike.

    ¡°We did both see that, right? We did both see a jet black heart turn back to human red as it died, right?¡± he asked.

    ¡°We sure did.¡± She nodded solemnly.

    ¡°That proves 2 things. One, I was right, and you owe me 20 bucks. Secondly, they do turn human after they die, like I suspected¡­so the bodies I¡¯m leaving behind aren¡¯t being rushed to some secret lab for cover-storage and research, They¡¯re just going to look human by the time anyone finds them.¡± He sighed, almost disappointed.

    ¡°Which is worse¡­?¡± Tanner asked. Making 2 more cuts and seeing only human flesh. ¡°That nobody believes you, and thinks you¡¯re just killing people, except you''re RIGHT!...or finding out there¡¯s a huge demon cover-up operation and all the police are just hiding dead monsters and all one giant conspiracy? Isn¡¯t this better that they turn back...human?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good point. We¡¯d get the damn electric chair regardless, I¡¯ll take monsters that turn human and ignorant cops just doing their jobs, over a fucking full corrupt police department in on it, not saying a word and belonging to some cult that knows they exist.¡± Mike sighed with relief.

    ¡°Man, this is good news!¡± Tanner grinned. ¡°The BEST news. They¡¯re not human, but they leave behind a human corpse. That¡¯s great! The cops are just dumb, not plotting against you. Cops don¡¯t know shit. What was that, 5 seconds? Nobody is cracking one open 5 seconds after you shot them, so nobody knows anything unless you left survivors¡­you don¡¯t, right?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Absolutely not. Confirm the target with thermal, confirm the kill with thermal and in most cases physical exam to check for pulse. The only survivors are lukewarm human collateral.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, this is fun. We¡¯re literally VanHelsing-ing together! You think I doubt you now? We¡¯re basically bonded now. This got so real for us. How have you never dissected one like this before in like¡­20 kills?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Over 77 kills. I almost said 78, but you killed this one. Tanner, this was disturbing at first, but I¡¯m glad we did this.¡±

    "Disturbing...really? YOU, disturbed?"

    "The disturbing part is that I''m tempted to do this for fun. Temptation gets you caught and takes over. With a partner, there''s someone watching your back." he smiled.

    ¡°It¡¯s like bonding, right? Someone with similar interest you can really be yourself with. Someone who doesn¡¯t think you''re crazy. I mean we¡¯re both obviously a little loony toonz and fucking weird, but not¡­like too far gone, ya know? Like, on the same level?¡± she flirted.

    ¡°Tanner, if I¡¯m being honest, I have always had a little hint of doubt in my work.¡±

    ¡°Nooooo.¡± She pleaded. ¡°Never doubt your art! This is your calling, Damnit.¡±

    ¡°We just confirmed that these aren¡¯t even people anymore. Thermals are one thing, but you always have doubts, faith is an uphill battle, kid. That¡¯s not faith, that¡¯s absolute proof. We should have recorded it.¡±

    ¡°Just hang onto evidence, in case we get caught and need to prove that the 77 people you killed were not people. Because that¡¯s gonna hold up in court and get us off with a slap on the wrist? After raggin on me for victim selfies? Really?¡± she scolded.

    ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right, kid.¡± He coughed, covering his mouth.

    ¡°Smell getting to you?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Maybe. Or the smoking is getting to me. This is why you shouldn¡¯t smoke. Stick to edibles and consider laying off the booze.¡± He coughed.

    ¡°You kidding, I¡¯m just getting started. We¡¯re celebrating, it¡¯s party time, preacher.¡± She grinned. ¡°And you need a persona. Costume, calling card, props.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Okay fine but consider this, Murdergeisha¡­Sniper Samurai. Just saying it aloud.¡± She whispered. "I''ll take that look as a second no."

 Chapter 7: Judas?

    Tanner stared deadly still, making a slurping sound through her straw, specifically to be annoying, sustaining it far longer than anyone would assume possible. A voice broke the silence from across the table as a dark figure sat down on the park bench. The cold air outside made him shiver, as Tanner seemed eerily unaffected.

    ¡°Are you done?¡± The familiar voice asked.

    ¡°Are you annoyed yet, Porky?¡± she said, staring the cop down with psychotic calmness and slurping louder.

    ¡°Quite annoyed.¡± Detective Baker sighed.

    ¡°Good, then we¡¯re on the same wavelength, because I find it very annoying when a cop pulls up beside me on my walk to get a beverage at 2AM.¡± She said, returning to her drink.

    ¡°Where¡¯s he at?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Asleep. At least when I left.¡±

    ¡°So¡­what information do you have?¡±

    ¡°Not much. He¡¯s pretty secretive.¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Damnit girl, you are facing a lot of time here if you don¡¯t help us out. The Organization. How many people?¡±

    ¡°Apparently just us 2. There¡¯s nobody else. He¡¯s just that good.¡± She said darkly. ¡°Don¡¯t tell him I said that. He always knows I have a crush on him, I don¡¯t need him getting a big head or anything. Maybe I do, actually. The confidence boost might get him horny.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a 50-year-old former priest who actually believed he takes his orders from God? He supplies his own support and weapons and can take down a guy from a mile and a half, with no training or team? Not even a spotter or driver? Bullshit. Either you¡¯re one dumb bitch for believing that, or you¡¯re lying to me. So did I just hire the stupidest hooker on Earth as my informant on the inside, or are you just covering his ass and trying to get life in prison for 5 or more counts of murder?¡±

    ¡°Motherfucker, I stepped in front of a van for your little plan. Don¡¯t look at me like I¡¯m not committed and doing my part. He actually hit me!¡±

    ¡°The guy you killed last, Mayor¡¯s Nephew¡­that¡¯s ballsy.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, I wax mine if you wanna see them.¡± She snipped.

    ¡°Why risk your life for a nobody?¡± Damien asked.

    ¡°Because he¡¯s onto something big. Do you not see the REAL organization here? They¡¯re the bad guys he¡¯s killing. Police are protecting them, they¡¯re paid off. Women are dying, and the mayor is untouchable because of crooked police, and you¡¯re worried about an imaginary group of hitmen who, if they did exist, are doing a great job of taking out the trash for you guys. But they don¡¯t. It¡¯s one guy, and he hasn¡¯t told me how he does it.¡±

    ¡°Listen, if you keep covering for him, we¡¯ll find another angle and just put you away.¡±

    ¡°I honestly think he¡¯d just get me out, but I¡¯m telling you he gets his orders from God. That¡¯s not a code word for the guy he¡¯s working for in some hitman squad, actual God. He believes the people he hunts are demons or something. The other day when we cut open Joe for information.¡±

    ¡°Jesus Christ, Tanner.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me, rude¡­wasn¡¯t done. When we cut open a convicted pedophile working for a group of men killing women that you¡¯re doing jack shit about, he saw Joe¡¯s heart black and demonic before he died. Then he saw it turn human again.¡±

    ¡°This bullshit again, Honey, there are no demons, just bad people.¡±

    ¡°I know, I didn''t see anything, but he believes it. He sees things in the thermal scopes, he saw a demon heart, he hears God¡¯s voice. He¡¯s probably insane but like, who am I to judge, I paint my face white and fillet rapists for fun. But he also tracked down 5 killers you guys didn¡¯t even know about just looking for recruits, and if he hadn¡¯t cleaned my evidence, you¡¯d have caught me sooner. He¡¯s good. Too good. But I¡¯ve seen him work and he¡¯s legit. So yea, I played into his fantasy, I¡¯ve been trying to do that in another way, but he¡¯s taken a vow of celibacy or something after the wife died. I dunno but if he¡¯s not on this¡­¡± she said flaying her fingernails out to display herself dramatically ¡°¡­after practically throwing it at him, then he¡¯s either gay or shut down the party zone. He¡¯s just an old man doing what he thinks is right after his family got killed and nobody did shit to help. He invented the help, and he¡¯s stopped more serial killers and gangs than the fucking cops have. Let the man work, or God forbid, just go after the mayor yourself.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that, there¡¯s a legal system-¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work at all, we proved that. The fact that there¡¯s a legal system in the way of justice shows you who your bosses are working for. Whoever pays better. Face it Babe, You work for the criminals he kills. You come to work and follow orders that go up a broken chain of command to rich criminals who own the police. And you know it. Who¡¯s the good guys here exactly?¡± she accused.

    ¡°Look, I am trying to get to the bottom of this.¡±

    ¡°Exactly, the bottom. You¡¯re too chicken shit to go for the top because they own you, so you bust the kids selling weed to survive, the prostitutes renting the pussy that God gave them, and when the Diddy party starts in, you just look away and file paperwork, because the God you listen to writes your checks, and they wanna party. So you blackmail me to take down a priest who¡¯s doing the job you¡¯re claiming to be doing, serving the people, taking down the evil in this state.¡± She said, crossing her legs and rattling her ice. "Can I get a refill?"

    ¡°What do you want me to do? Lose case files, let the preacher do his thing, and let whoever he works for just play God?"

    ¡°I think who he works for just IS God. I¡¯m playing dressup, you¡¯re playing a good cop, and we¡¯re the ones pretending here. He believes it, he lives it. You think I dress up in makeup because I actually think I¡¯m a ghost of a Japanese high class prostitute resurrected as a vengeance spirit? No. I do it because it¡¯s fun and I look really hot in creepy costumes. Don¡¯t hate me for that. I gave you the truth and you don¡¯t like it. So what lie would you like me to make up? He¡¯s God himself, and he¡¯s magical. He¡¯s actually 5 KGB assassins who got plastic surgery to look like twinzies who live in a complex under the cabin. He¡¯s the devil himself and here just to fuck with you doing your wonderful deeds, and your faith is just not strong enough. Feel free to throw your own bullshit in the mix. The truth is, he¡¯s one guy, he¡¯s doing great things, he¡¯s amazing at it, and you¡¯re jealous because he either IS blessed, or just better at your job."

    ¡°Why the hell would I be jealous?¡± Damien scoffed.

    ¡°Maybe because you went to cop school thinking you¡¯d do actual good and put away the bad people, and you¡¯re jealous that he¡¯s doing your dream job while you file papers for politicians and crooked devils. Maybe you can¡¯t shoot for shit and any marksman on that level just pisses you off. Maybe you¡¯re the one black dude in this town with a tiny dick, and you¡¯re just livid at how much big PP energy he¡¯s rockin for an old white dude. I bet it¡¯s huge.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°You fell for him, didn¡¯t you? Older man doing what you do but better, thought he¡¯d be a monster, but he¡¯s nice to you and a spoiled bratty-ass like you doesn¡¯t get treated nice very often because you got a chip on your shoulder. You fell for his Holyman act. You really think God talks to him?¡±

    ¡°Maybe, I dunno. I think either God or his good conscience talks to him, and tells him what¡¯s right in this world, like you when you joined the force, except he obeys it and fucks the rules, and you silenced your inner voice because the rich rule-makers told you to sit, stay, roll over buddy. Good boy. I did what you asked, I let myself get caught, I let myself get close, I played into his game and he¡¯s the real deal. I¡¯m not gonna stab him in the back, I can¡¯t give up his team and his organization if there isn¡¯t any, and I can''t get him to turn himself in, the honey pot didn¡¯t work, he believes in something higher than you, and he¡¯ll die for it, and won''t give in to any temptations and get caught. If you go after him, he¡¯ll evade you. If you pose a threat, he¡¯ll kill you, and if I¡¯m with him, I¡¯ll help him kill you. So arrest me. Find another cute young serial killer as bait, and find another angle into this hit squad that doesn¡¯t exist.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°I could arrest you, but you¡¯re not worth it yet. I¡¯m trying to take down his boss.¡± Damien said.

    ¡°You can¡¯t take down his boss because his boss is God. His boss is a good heart and reason, in a world where punishment and justice depends on your income and who you know or who you blow. You either have to accept one of two things. That he¡¯s just that good, and you¡¯re the problem, and when you move to take him down, you¡¯ll glow in the thermal scope and then die like a bitch. Or you can stick to your theory that you¡¯re the good guy and there are a bunch of hitmen out there organized, and I¡¯m just a lying bitch, and I can¡¯t give you something I don¡¯t have to flip a man who believes he¡¯s right. I can¡¯t help you take down God or imaginary MI-6 hiding in fucking Illinois. I have nothing to give you. There¡¯s nothing to give, except a warning, maybe. Don¡¯t fuck with the priest. So¡­ Arrest me.¡± she shrugged.

    ¡°We both know you¡¯re not going in quietly.¡±

    ¡°Oh fuck no, I¡¯m not.¡± she grinned.

    ¡°You got a gun under the table pointed at my nuts and if I tell you we¡¯re going into custody right now you¡¯ll shoot me and get away. You¡¯ll just get arrested tomorrow by someone else, but I don¡¯t wanna get shot.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so we¡¯re not gonna go to the police station and throw me in a cell? That¡¯s a shame. You better call backup and tell them your big conspiracy that would get you suspended or committed or fired, and then tell them that you¡¯re bending the rules working with a serial killer to take down a whole group of imaginary ones. They¡¯ll love that. He¡¯ll break me out, and you¡¯ll lose your job. THEN he''ll kill you.¡± Tanner smiled serenely.

    ¡°You¡¯re an informant, INFORM me. What do you suggest I do here? Let both of you go, burn my case and play dumb, be the puppet you just accused me of?"

    ¡°You want the truth, the real truth of what I think you should do?¡±

    ¡°Try me.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°You¡¯re already breaking the rules fucking with files and investigating your own theory, so investigate and fuck with files regarding the mayor. Find the truth there, and ask yourself if that¡¯s who you wanna help or the preacher? Ask yourself some real questions and see if a voice talks to you and tells you to fuck the system. That¡¯s either God or yourself because you know what¡¯s the lesser evil here, and admitting that means you¡¯re scared to lose your job to do the right thing, or you¡¯re one of the bad guys yourself. You don¡¯t have to abduct and kill women to be a monster, if you know one is out there, and you choose your career over their lives.¡±

    ¡°Trying to flip a cop?¡± He chuckled. ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Trying to see if you¡¯re still human in there. You know what Preacher Mikey does to humans? Nothing. But you keep choosing the side you¡¯re on, and you¡¯re gonna get warmer and warmer in that scope, and I actually hope you see the light and either get out of this or pick the right side of it. I¡¯ve been around a lot of bad cops, sick fuckers who will do whatever they want and get away with it. You¡¯re not like that, Detective. You¡¯re just lost and scared. We¡¯ve all been there.¡± She smiled. ¡°Now Mister special detective man, I¡¯ve killed 6 people and I plan to kill a few more, hopefully you don¡¯t add yourself to that list, because I¡¯m about to leave this gas station park bench and turn my back. We ARE going to kill the mayor, and a lot of people that throw themselves in the way. That¡¯s called a confession. There¡¯s nothing stopping you from shooting me in the back except exposing your own secret case, and if you want a new job that lets you sleep at night feeling like you made the world a better place and served society, you could follow me and talk to Preacher Mike, he might like the help. You can¡¯t be a good cop and work for the bad cops. You can¡¯t believe in the law and the system and sneak around it when it suits you, so pick a side, Agent Baker. Pick a lane and merge, stop riding the center because you¡¯re scared to commit and get your hands TOO dirty.¡± Tanner Grinned as she got up, de-cocking her pistol and swinging her hips in her little skirt as she went, making her way back to the cabin, walking the long winding road up.

    The door slowly closed as Tanner tiptoed her way back into the cabin, jumping at the flicker of a cigarette lighter.

    ¡°Hi¡­" she smiled.

    ¡°Go for a walk?¡± Mike asked casually, having a smoke.

    ¡°Yea.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Why, were you like... worried about me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Just didn¡¯t expect to come out for breakfast and find an empty cabin, no note. You came back looking nervous and sneaking in. That¡¯s the part that worries me.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m allowed to leave, am I your prisoner or apprentice? I needed some fresh air, I met up with some friends. People have friends.¡±

    ¡°The silencer is still on your gun. Forgot to remove it. You hoping for trouble?¡± Mike exhaled.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who made me a silencer for my gun and suggested I use the barrel thingy.¡±

    ¡°I designed the silencer to look like a flashlight, even work like a flashlight so you can carry it in case you needed it. So either you needed it or you thought you might. Tanner, I understand you¡¯re young and full of energy but please tell me you didn¡¯t kill someone without even letting me know. Hiding it.¡±

    ¡°Okay, look. I was just stalking a potential kill, I wasn¡¯t acting on it. I¡¯m planning, and being smart, just like you told me, but you taught me to be prepared, so I went hushy mode before I followed.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s my target, and I¡¯m only practicing my stalking. If I actually intend to kill someone, I¡¯ll let you know. You picked me up a killer, operating on my own, you can¡¯t expect me to just switch brands without any little cheat days. Girl¡¯s got needs, Mister. Someone has to take care of those, and I took care of it. Nobody died, nobody got hurt. I went for a walk, I window shopped, I window shopped with proper protection, and I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d understand because I just wanted to play alone.¡±

    ¡°Well, hopefully you¡¯re still in the mood, because I have a job, and this one is a 2-person job. Can I count on you? Are you on my side?¡± he asked cryptically.

    ¡°Duh, why do you think I came back? Why do you think I came back without killing anyone? I¡¯m on your side, Mike. Always have been. So who¡¯s the target? And why do you look uncomfortable?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going clubbing.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Mike¡­¡± She blushed, grinning. ¡°Am I your target? Are you taking me out... so to speak?¡±

    ¡°I hate to even suggest it, but you can get into places I can¡¯t. There¡¯s a bar downtown where I¡¯d stand out. I need you to stand out in a good way, and get him to leave the club with you. I need you dressed up and getting him distracted.¡±

    ¡°So you want me fuckable and cute, so another guy will show interest. Starting to think you have a very specific Cuck-chair kink you¡¯re leading up to, but I get it. Who¡¯s the guy?¡±

    ¡°A cop.¡± He smiled. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a different look than I expected, I thought you¡¯d be trilled to kill a cop.¡±

    ¡°Uh, not that I mind, but you want me to hook a cop?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Crooked cop. Worst kind. He¡¯s been known to hang out with hookers, never brings any into the station, so either he has a power fetish for giving warnings, or he¡¯s using them somehow. Bait, scapegoats, informants. Or he¡¯s just getting free sex with a badge.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t... you kinda using me as bait?¡± she asked, nervously.

    ¡°No. You can say you don¡¯t want to, and I¡¯ll do it alone another way. You have choices, this is a team. You can quit your job if you don¡¯t like your boss, that¡¯s basic American freedom."

    ¡°So hypothetically, if I didn¡¯t wanna kill a cop and I just decided to leave right now and never come back. Would you follow me, hunt me, let me go?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d ask you to reconsider and try to make you see the benefit of our work, but I¡¯d never stalk or take a shot at you. We both have dirt on each other, that¡¯s a mutual trust. You scared?¡± he asked. ¡°Or ready to quit?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not quitting, I just am a little nervous about killing a cop. Cops tend to travel in packs and armed, they all have guns and training, and they take it personal when you hit one of their own. But if you want to go hunting badges¡­I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°Just one badge. This one travels alone. He doesn¡¯t seem to like partners or backup. Probably hard to trust the other officers with his illegal ideas and dirty tactics would be my guess. Anyone you know?¡± he said, turning the laptop. She breathed a sigh of relief when it wasn¡¯t Damien Baker, and it was nobody she recognized.

    ¡°Nope. Just looks like a cop.¡± You wanna do this tonight?¡±

    ¡°No time like the present. You want the plan first or breakfast?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Both.¡± She said, grabbing a bowl and heading to the fridge for some cereal as he laid out the sketches of the club.

    ¡°This is Harold Butler. Dirty as they get, been that way for 20 years or more. He happens to be one of the many cops who tampered with evidence to clear our Mayor buddy and some local kid took the fall. Got hard time for abducting a woman he never touched. Just some dumb kid running drugs and car stereos. Never killed anyone. Owns a very nice home for a cop salary, too. Right now he¡¯s working on a case, trying to take down a local gang that¡¯s been causing him trouble. The Crimson Kings.¡±

    ¡°Heard the name, nothing much else. I avoid large groups of criminals.¡±

    ¡°Well these boys have really slipped through his fingers, he¡¯s got a vendetta and I have information the public doesn¡¯t on their files. They like to shoot people in the back. They always use a 40 Smith and Wesson solid copper hollowpoint. That¡¯s part of an open case they don¡¯t talk about because their ammo supplier is apparently someone protected. The problem is that 40 hollowpoints don¡¯t do well on body armor and our cop knows that, and Officer Butler wears soft armor on his off time if he thinks he¡¯s somewhere unsavory. I¡¯ll have copper 40¡¯s in Rachel, and you¡¯ll be unarmed when you go in because the club checks. You¡¯ll make your way to the bathroom where a window vent will be unscrewed and a pocket knife will be passed along. In the alley is where he likes to park his unmarked car. There will be a dumpster near the exit with a locked briefcase on a chain, stuffed behind it, you¡¯ll have the key and inside will be Joe¡¯s suppressed Colt, 5.7mm armor piercings rounds and the barrel insert. You lure him out to his car and use the code words SOFT or HARD to let me know if he¡¯s wearing body armor. If he¡¯s not, I put one suppressed 40 in his back and you head home. If ANYONE follows you. There is a fuse taped to the case, light it and toss the case, keep walking. I¡¯ll meet you home the long way, expect delays. If he¡¯s wearing body armor, signal and distract him while I grab the Colt. It¡¯s not gonna be as quiet, but still quiet enough next to a night club. I¡¯ll burn the insert and the silencer, hand it to you. Wipe for prints and toss it at the first sign of anything wrong. Either way it should be quiet, and whatever gun was used is my burden, you¡¯ll take whichever backup gun home, unless you think you¡¯re being followed. Easy.

    ¡°Sounds simple enough. What about fingerprints?¡±

    "I have gloves, some for you too, be waiting in the alley. Just be careful, This officer knows people and he may get grabby. You still in?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Does it matter, if we¡¯re killing him anyway? Just makes killing him more fun. Let¡¯s hunt this old crooked Boar.¡±

 Chapter 8: Boar Hunt

    The dark bass thumping and synthetic electronic aggression of club HATE pounded the multicolored entrance doors, lit by stage lights. A man in a black suit and tie, head down and brushing past the line, was nodded-in as if he owned the place. He lifted his head with a smile as the heavy set man, panned the bar with his eyes and nodded to the security guard at the far end, turning to the stage. Pink and blue moving lights illuminated glistening skin and skimpy leather outfits, the people moving to the music as another security guard behind them nodded. He fluffed his coat, badge and gun briefly visible so everyone knew who was in charge. He strolled in and found a table at the back to watch the show. He plopped down, tapping the table hard with his fingertips and the bartender made his way to get the usual.

    The initials HB gleamed off his ring, welded to his fat finger that has swollen around it slightly, moving down the glass table as a line of coke disappeared into a tube, and Harold lifted his head up, breathing deeply and wiping his nose. He assessed the eye candy. He spotted something interesting looking his way. Her movements were subtle, but almost aimed at him, as her dark black eyes peered from the dark red eyeshadow. 2 gold rings adorned her black lipstick covered lower lip as she slowly made her way his direction, her skirt riding up her thighs slightly, and her studded belt reflecting the blue and pink lights as his eyes locked onto her exposed midriff.

    ¡°Spot something you like?¡± Harold asked Tanner.

    ¡°Maybe. Maybe you mopped it all up already.¡± She said coyly. He tapped out a fresh line in front of himself, so she would have to lean in close. She leaned over, exposing cleavage intentionally slow, before holding her hands behind her back and casually wiping the table clean with a flick of her hair and harsh sniff.

    ¡°Cocky little hoover, aren¡¯t you? You know those aren¡¯t cheap and only first one is free. You got a name?¡±

    ¡°Bethany, but you can tag me however you like.¡± Tanner played.

    ¡°Harold Butler. First time here? Enjoying the place so far?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a little dark, but I¡¯m getting used to it. Is this your club?¡± asked Tanner.

    ¡°Not officially, but it may as well be at this point. Very nice nails.¡±

    ¡°Well I¡¯m glad someone fucking noticed it. I spent time on these nails, first someone¡¯s even said a word. It¡¯s like why bother looking hot when someone doesn¡¯t give a shit.¡±

    ¡°Whoever doesn¡¯t give a shit must be blind or neutered.¡± He said as the music died down slightly, moving from industrial Goth to more hauntingly vampiric.

    ¡°I¡¯m still attempting it myself, but at some point you gotta give up and move on to better prospects. So what do you do?¡± she asked, he grinned and opened his coat to show the badge.

    ¡°Bad cop¡­did you bring good cop with you or is this a solo operation. Undercover as a pimp? Hunting drug lords?¡± she said dramatically.

    ¡°Hunting for sure, haven¡¯t decided what for yet. And there¡¯s no such thing as a good cop in this district. Just bad cops and bad cops pretending to be good cops. New blood still wet behind the ears, too scared to enjoy the perks of the job.¡±

    ¡°Experienced at that, I see. You seem to enjoy your work. I gotta be totally honest, I seem to end up around older men with experience in being bad, they¡¯re practically swerving to get me in the back of a van. I guess I look a little younger than my age, and it¡¯s quite the temptation.¡±

    ¡°And how old are you?¡± Harold asked.

    ¡°Old enough to order a drink at a club, but don¡¯t tell the others, it might hurt my clientele.¡±

    ¡°Ha¡­ You¡¯re one of those little gals that pretends to be helpless and hang around dangerous men, but you¡¯re the dangerous one aren¡¯t you?¡± he smirked.

    ¡°Guilty as charged. Ya caught me.¡± She said locking eyes and bending at the waist to display her wrists as if to say ¡°cuff me¡± and waiting for a response.

    ¡°I¡¯d love to take you in for questioning; you¡¯ve definitely got some potential. I just got here though, never take the first shot you see, love. Enjoy the free party booster. If you wanna buy another or stick around till I¡¯m ready to leave, maybe I can get that confession.¡±

    ¡°I dunno. I might get bored, or find someone else here ready to leave. What if you look around, and I¡¯ve gone already? Seems like confession are all I do anymore, I gotta get some sinning done in between them or there won''t be anything to confess." She toyed. His attention was drawn slightly by a couple of guys with tattoos and cheap suits sitting down on either side of her.

    ¡°Stick around. Dance, burn off that powder bump for a while and come back when my¡­interrogation room is empty.¡± He said as she reluctantly got up and moved away. She rolled her eyes and wandered to the corner of the room to dance in private as she held her phone up discreetly.

    ¡°Magic Mike, this is Hogbait, over.¡± She muttered playfully.

    ¡°Great code names, Double hoe-seven.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°Ugh! That¡¯s both rude and clever. I¡¯m shocked and impressed mister preacher.¡±

    ¡°Preacher is dead, You want Handyman or Hitman? Have you made contact with the target?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Yep. He noticed me. He¡¯s got other plans of priority, so I¡¯m stuck fiddle-fucking around until it¡¯s over.¡±

    ¡°You sure you provided enough temptation?¡±

    ¡°Sweetie, if you saw me in this outfit and lighting, you¡¯d forget the mission we¡¯re on. I¡¯m like Buffy the dick slayer up in here, and club HATE has more eyes on me than the stage. Trust me, he may be stuck under that table, but he¡¯s got some business and friends and blow to attend to that takes priority at the moment. I know his type. He¡¯s on the hook, he¡¯s just stalling to see if I stick around.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s security like?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Minimal, but it¡¯s there. Few assholes with chrome pieces and sunglasses like they¡¯re trying to win the henchman of the year award. They know him but they work for the club, so they¡¯re not his bodyguards. This guy thinks he¡¯s his own bodyguard. Glock 17 in his jacket holster. I¡¯d dome him and call it a day if I were you.¡±

    ¡°RCrimson Kings shoot for the back, it¡¯s a symbolism thing. I wanna get the attention looking the wrong way. Vest or none?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s wearing a vest, but it¡¯s dark, and I can¡¯t feel what I can¡¯t reach. Hard to say. I¡¯ll keep you posted, King.¡± She said, biting her lip and sliding the phone down and back into her belt.

    She danced and nursed a few beers over about 40 minutes as the coke settled down and the bass pulsing fluctuated, taking a swing around the pole and sashaying her way from guy to guy, looking for the right competition. She spotted her mark, a young man too cool for a suit, and wearing eyeliner. In a club of sexy young succubae and men looking more like hunters, he was the only guy embracing the creature of the night theme. She stopped and grinded in front of him.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Bethany.¡± she winked.

    ¡°Mister Smith.¡± He said slyly. She tried not to chuckle and played her second hand embarrassment off as just being playful.

    ¡°So you here for record sales or Neo?¡± she winked.

    ¡°Here for the music and the ladies. I¡¯ve seen you making your rounds. Picky girl. What brings you to my turf?¡± he said almost forcing her to sigh and roll her eyes.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just say I know my type when I see it, so don¡¯t fuck it up. Just be chill and don¡¯t make sudden moves¡­but be sure to make them.¡± She teased.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it.¡± he said cluelessly.

    ¡°I want you to work for it a little. Just don¡¯t oversell the vibe. So what do you do for a living?¡±

    ¡°Collecting souls mostly. Pretty young ones.¡±

    ¡°Seriously, dude, you manage a Lil Caesars or what?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not. I have my own software company that¡¯s about to hit big.¡±

    ¡°Yea, that one I believe.¡± She smiled, nodding out of pure sympathy but forcing her cringe into a flirtatious grin.

    ¡°What do you do?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I kill people¡­mostly for the souls.¡± She said half serious. ¡°I¡¯m actually in between jobs at the moment and hoping for a bite on this really big job. I got the interviewer practically drooling for me, so all I gotta do is play it patient, and he should hunt me down. Can¡¯t look too desperate, you know. They see that desperation and consider you weak.¡± She said as a figure approached her from behind. ¡°And speak of the devil himself.¡± She grinned.

    ¡°Hey kid¡­¡± Said Harold, flashing a piece. ¡°Go fuck yourself and find something cheaper.¡± He growled as the young buck dipped out and got lost. Tanner scowled at him.

    ¡°Oh, so now you wanna play, now that I was making some progress?¡± she asked, turning and acting annoyed but mildly impressed.

    ¡°That¡¯s your type? Geek-Squad playing teenage Dracula?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s got his own tech company that¡¯s about to go really big.¡± She gasped dramatically.

    ¡°I came here for business, but I think that¡¯s come to an agreement, and I just can¡¯t stand seeing a pretty thing like you going home with some little shit like that. Breaks my heart, waste of potential if you ask me. Fuck some different loser every night and drag yourself to the next club?¡±

    ¡°Well, a girl has to eat, and food cost money. Someone has to make that somehow. Not exactly Harvard law degree material, but I¡¯m some kinda material. Now I can nickel-and-dime that meal ticket with these silly pups, or I can find one big dog with enough to cover the whole problem. So, what would you like me to do? You wanna watch me waste my potential or lock it down?¡± she asked sternly.

    ¡°You understand what loyalty is, or are you prone to adventuring?¡± Harold asked.

    ¡°Well, that depends on if my needs are getting met or if I¡¯m starving.¡±

    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get your scrawny-ass self something to eat. Something that should hold you over for a while.¡± He grinned almost growing horns with his every silent second of staring into her eyes.

    Tanner staggered out the back door into the alley, her arm around Officer Butler, squeezing and groping as she laughed and played drunker than she was.

    ¡°You know for a big mean cop that¡¯s tough on the outside, I bet on the inside, you¡¯re just all SOFT!¡± she said with annunciation. He chuckled as Mike peaked from behind the dumpster, taking the code word to heart, drawing Rachel and pointing a copper hollowpoint at his back. He fired, and the big boar let out a grunt, stumbling and grabbing Tanner, pulling his police issue Glock and returning fire twice as Mike quickly put 2 more in his chest and backed behind the dumpster. Butler hunkered down, wheezing and pulling tanner with him by sheer weight. Ribs bruised and pissed off, he looked almost like he enjoyed it.

    ¡°Nice try, fucker. The girl with you, or just in the way?¡± He said, placing her between the shooter and himself as a shield, gun beside her ear, facing forward.¡±

    ¡°Red Kings don¡¯t work with whores, especially whores that fuck pigs¡­ why aren¡¯t you dying fat boy?¡± Mike said in a generic and poorly done Hispanic accent, grabbing the Colt full of armor piercing magnesium 5.7 rounds from the dumpster.

    ¡°I¡¯m a tough skinned old beast. Toss the gun and come out slow, and you live. Try anything stupid and you both die.¡± Mike made a choice and slid the colt into the alley, the more visible silvery shine gleaming in the light better than the matte black HK. The old cop stepped confidently to retrieve it, his Glock still pointed out, letting Tanner go.

    ¡°You know¡­¡± he started, turning to pick it up and Tanner jumped as his head burst into a splatter of red, and he dropped.

    ¡°At least his head seems soft and unarmored.¡± Sighed Mike.

    ¡°Fuck! Are you hit?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No, are you?¡± Mike replied.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m fine. The fuck happened?¡±

    ¡°You said SOFT. Soft means no vest.¡± Mike reminded.

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t wearing a vest!¡± she objected as Mike checked the body.

    ¡°Debatable definitions. Not police issue, but this is definitely a Kevlar shirt. That¡¯s every-day light body armor.¡±

    ¡°SHIT! I am so sorry. There¡¯s no way I-¡±

    ¡°I know, I¡¯m not mad, but the plans have changed. Toss the wig. Someone may have heart those shots. His Glock wasn¡¯t suppressed like Rachel.¡± He said grabbing the cop¡¯s gun. ¡°I want you to run back into the club and yell someone¡¯s been shot, get a panic going, and then when the crowd moves, move with them, go north.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t they question me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop to get questioned. Trust me, they¡¯ll be following me.¡± He said tossing the briefcase in the dumpster. ¡°Run, now. North, circle around a few blocks and go home. I¡¯ll be out late.¡± He said. She hesitated and then ran in. Mike stood and counted in his head, firing the Glock once in the air now that people were listening and cameras in the club would show an unarmed tanner somewhere the shooting wasn¡¯t happening. He turned the alley, Rachel in his belt, and the Glock out, taking out a plastic bag and bagging the gun. A flash of flames poofed up from the dumpster, knocking the lid open as the evidence burned up, leaving just Joe''s unaltered Colt wiped for prints. He rushed down the road, slowing to a walk as the cop sirens grew louder. He turned down another alley and covered his face, firing twice in the air through the bag, and catching the shells. The sirens made a turn around and followed the sound of the shots. He ran for a block, tucking the Glock and the bag under his coat and then casually crossing the street and going under a bus stop awning. With a slight hop, he tossed the bagged gun into the curled guttering and began walking in plain view, getting out wet wipes and cleaning his gloves thoroughly, turning them inside out with the wipes and tossing in a nearby trash can, before giving himself a sprits of cologne and looping back around towards the club. His heart raced as he slowed down to look less suspicious and hoped that everything worked out. He dialed his phone.

    ¡°Tanner?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh my god are you okay, I heard more shots.¡±

    ¡°Distraction cover fire. Did you make a clean escape?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yea, did you?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Wait 20 minutes and head to 44<sup>th</sup> street. If you see cops abort and go home, if not, there is a Glock in a bag in the guttering of a bus stop, see if you can get that. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. I got something that may take a while. Don¡¯t worry about me.¡± He said, hanging up. A cop car rolled to a slow pace beside him, as he ignored it until it was too obvious to pretend to not notice. He put on a smile and stopped for it.

    ¡°Sir, are you Michael Finn of Finn Plumbing?¡± asked the cop, Damien¡¯s familiar face smiling back. ¡°What are the odds of finding you here?¡±

    ¡°One.¡± Mike replied. ¡°Odds of anything that happens are 1 in 1 if they happened. My grandfather used to say that.¡±

    ¡°Sir I would like you to take a minute and step into the car.¡± He said stepping out and displaying his weapon and badge.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be responding to the shots? I heard gunfire and saw cop cars going that way.¡± Mike shrugged.

    ¡°I bet you did. Get in the car, Mister Finn. I¡¯m asking politely before I ask not politely.¡±

    ¡°Well that¡¯s a shame of a way to start a conversation, but I guess if I have to.¡± He said nodding and getting his phone out. He stared at the back seat as Detective baker gave him a confused look, the phone ringing as he waited.

    ¡°Hello, police. This is Michael Finn on the corner of 48<sup>th</sup> and broad, I¡¯ve been picked up by a man claiming to be a police officer. There was a shooting, I just wanted to make sure he¡¯s a real officer and not someone who stole a cop car. Black man, about 6 foot, Officer, what¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Detective Damien baker.¡±

    ¡°Damien Baker¡­okay good, he¡¯s with you guys. It just seemed odd, he was very insistent I get in the car and won''t tell me why, and since I was just walking and heard shots, I wanted to be sure. Yea I¡¯m going with him, it¡¯s 2:56 so we should be at the station soon. I don¡¯t know why yet, he hasn¡¯t explained why I¡¯m being taken in. Thank you.¡± He said, pretending to be hanging up.¡±

    ¡°You going quietly?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Absolutely, Officer. Never can be TOO safe. Speaking of safe, I want to announce that I am carrying a loaded gun, you should know that.¡± Mike said holding his hands up passively.

    ¡°I kinda guessed. Hands stay up, I¡¯m gonna take that.¡± He said as Mike held the phone up and his free hand, the number still connected to the police.

    ¡°Am I disarmed and safe, Officer?¡± he smiled.

    ¡°You are now, get in the car.¡± Damien said as he complied.

    ¡°Oh, I hope you don¡¯t mind me recording the ride to the station. I feel much safer that way.¡± He said still holding the phone. ¡°You just never know with fake cops and crazy people nowadays.¡±

    ¡°Yea, we agree on that, Mister Finn.¡± Damien growled.

 Chapter 9: Custody Battle.

    Mike sat calmly in the police station interrogation room.

    ¡°Am I under arrest?¡± he asked as Detective Baker circled and sat down on the other end of the table with a big stack of papers and a smaller file in his other hand.

    ¡°You¡¯re being detained for questioning.¡± He replied, opening the smaller folder. ¡°Tragic shit, wife and kid killed, guy responsible got let out of prison¡­that could drive any man insane. Even a good one.¡±

    ¡°Those are facts, not questions. I can¡¯t answer a fact, only agree. But God works in mysterious ways and the killer may have escaped the justice system, but not god¡¯s judgment. He¡¯ll get what he deserves.¡± Mike smiled, his graying mustache curled up like a playful kid.

    ¡°Says here he already did. Drug deal gone wrong. Guy got killed.¡± Damien sighed.

    ¡°Really? Well, that¡¯s sort of poetic. Back to a life of crime that got him killed, after he got a second chance to be something different than what he was? You know, some animals never change. What was the question, officer?¡±

    ¡°Where were you at 2:45AM this morning?¡± Damien asked bluntly.

    ¡°You know where I was, I was out for a walk, by myself. You picked me up. Why did you pick me up?¡±

    ¡°Recognized you. I had an anonymous tip that said you may have been involved in a recent missing person¡¯s case. Joseph Richards, Janitor that went missing.¡±

    ¡°Was there any evidence or just your word that someone gave their word?¡±

    ¡°No direct evidence of a crime, but your van was seen parked at a school the day the janitor went missing. That, plus my anonymous tip added up to suspicion, so when I responded to an Officer Down call and saw your ass 4 blocks away from the shooting, you went from curiosity to suspect. You just go for walks in town at 3am alone, with a loaded gun?¡± he asked sarcastically.

    ¡°Yea, sometimes. The towns are where the people are, people need help. People like homeless in need of food in the cold, or people in trailer parks near schools who can¡¯t afford plumbing repair. People who just don¡¯t have help, and need a breath of fresh air from a handyman who does favors. I need fresh air and exercise sometimes too. There¡¯s no law saying a man can¡¯t go for a night walk. You¡¯d be crazy to walk at night in the bad areas of town unarmed. You know, being unarmed and helpless is how people get killed¡­ like my family. I do have a permit for that gun, it¡¯s registered.¡±

    ¡°You know the cop shot in the shooting last night?¡± Damien asked, showing a picture.

    ¡°Nope, I knew there was gunfire, I was close by, like you said when you picked me up. And you really wonder why I carry a gun? I could have been in that shooting and needed it to legally defend myself from some mugger or criminal. Guy who kills a cop wouldn¡¯t hesitate to kill a witness...or a threat. I¡¯m glad I was further down.¡±

    ¡°You mind if we check out the gun a little while? They wanted to run it through forensics.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t mean to spoil the ending, but my fingerprints are probably all over my own gun. If I¡¯m being accused of getting my own DNA on my own gun, then I confess, there will be some evidence. At least I hope so, or your forensics team needs to check again. I bet there are prints on the ammo, the magazine, the trigger. If you go to a local shooting range, you may even find that I¡¯ve¡­fired the weapon before.¡± He said, gasping a little playfully. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Checking for gunpowder residue on your hands. Shouldn¡¯t be any on your gloves or hands if you didn¡¯t fire it recently.¡±

    ¡°Swab away, Officer. I don¡¯t clean my gun as often as I probably should, but my hands are clean. I should also mention that the 45ACP is one of the most common full-sized handgun calibers used for personal protection. If a crime was committed with one, that is barely grounds for questioning, but not evidence of a crime.¡± He said, handing him a fresh pair of gloves.

    ¡°Actually, the report I just got says the gun used was a 40 caliber. So I guess this HK would be your backup gun, and the one you shot is probably in a ditch somewhere.¡±

    ¡°I seem to be confused, or maybe you are, I¡¯m not sure. You have me in for questioning because someone fired a gun you don¡¯t have, into a cop, that¡¯s not the caliber of the gun I legally have on me, that wasn¡¯t used to commit a crime. Where do I come into play here, sir?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Look we both know you carry a decoy gun because not carrying anything would look more suspicious than being armed, and you tossed the murder weapon.¡±

    ¡°Oh wow, a murder. That¡¯s pretty serious. I didn¡¯t know the officer died. Was he not wearing his vest?¡±

    ¡°Off duty, shot in the head.¡±

    ¡°Now I¡¯m really glad I carried my gun with me that night, the 45 that wasn¡¯t used in any crimes that¡¯s being processed. I will be getting that back, that¡¯s a very expensive gun and I don¡¯t have any other handguns for protection. Maybe I should get a backup gun, in case the police take mine and never give it back. Things get misfiled, Officer Baker. Don''t they? Then I¡¯d be unarmed, and apparently this area is dangerous as hell.¡± He said, taking a fake sigh as another officer entered the room and handed Damien Baker the forensic papers.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asked the other officer.

    ¡°Yea I¡¯m sure. I ran it myself. Riflings match a KelTec SUB-2000 carbine. They¡¯re looking in every alley for one right now. You¡¯ll wanna see the bullet type later.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s great news.¡± Mike nodded as the forensic guy gave him a look. ¡°Detective Baker said a 40 caliber, so I assumed a handgun. Those would be easy to toss and never find. A rifle should be hard to miss, good luck finding the gun.¡±

    ¡°You familiar with that specific gun?¡± Damien asked him. ¡°Familiar enough to know how big they are and hard to hide?¡±

    ¡°My grandfather was a gunsmith, I have a local range club membership, I am familiar with what Carbine means, so unless they changed that terminology I assume by definition a pistol caliber rifle would be rifle sized and hard to miss.¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± sighed the other cop. ¡°These kind fold up.¡± He nodded, leaving the room.

    ¡°Oh well damn the bad luck, Detective Baker, you have consent to check my back pockets for the weapon. I have very large pockets in these slacks, it¡¯s always best to check everywhere.¡± He said coldly.

    ¡°You are one cocky son of a bitch.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m just well versed in the law, after it failed to protect my family, and properly put away the man who killed them. I¡¯m also aware of my constitutional rights and I firmly believe that if you¡¯re not guilty, there¡¯s very little reason to be worried of a crime. Statistically being convicted of a crime without proper evidence and proof is insanely low, and the few rare cases are usually from police planting evidence or cheating their own system for conviction.¡± Mike said, staring him dead in the eyes with an almost accusing look. ¡°Hence the phone recorded ride.¡±

    ¡°Mister Finn, would you like a lawyer present?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem necessary unless you intend to use shady tactics to get a false-confession. Do you? Do you Detective intend to get a force confession? Can I trust you to abide by the law you swore to protect?¡± he asked. Damien looked worried, more worried than Mike by a wide margin. ¡°It would look very suspicious if you turned off the camera right now and then claimed to get a confession while it was off, so it would be very unfortunate if one of us said anything incriminating. Wouldn¡¯t it? Theoretically anything said while the camera was off would be inadmissible in court, right?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Strange statement. You got something to confess about a murder, preacher¡­off the records?¡± Baker asked.

    ¡°Oh I, don¡¯t know anything about any murder, let alone the one recently, But if I am about to be intimidatingly interrogated I may have an incriminating statement about something far less illegal but very embarrassing. If I had witnesses confirming my location but they were people I don¡¯t want to be associated with, could I speak off the record to prove my innocence of this specific crime?¡± he asked, looking embarrassed.

    ¡°Sure¡­¡± Detective baker said, pretending to turn off the camera.

    ¡°I may have been with a short-haired brunette prostitute, at a park bench¡­outside of a gas station, discussing some acts that might be illegal if I were to give into temptation.¡± He said softly. Detective Baker reached back and turned off the camera for real this time. ¡°Now THAT got your attention, didn¡¯t it Damien?¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°What the fuck did you just say?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡­confessed to temptation, considering soliciting illegal sex from a prostitute. That¡¯s what the camera up there will show before you turned it off. Is that illegal, just sitting and talking with a prostitute, alone, outside a gas station? You just recorded a preacher with a dead wife, pleading guilty of talking to a hooker and considering something sinful. Now you just turned off the camera, and if I were to get roughed up, you might lose your job. So I¡¯m safe, right? Detective Baker, have you ever had temptation to do something stupid, alone with a hooker outside a gas station? Would there be cameras at that gas station showing you were there... doing something stupid? If someone were to suggest that you were doing something illegal with said lady of the night, instead of arresting her for it, you might be under investigation of your own. It seems like there¡¯s more evidence of your shady behavior than any proof I have had any. And if you didn¡¯t turn off the camera by now you¡¯re the dumbest crooked cop in the department. I assume you¡¯ll just say you turned off the camera to scare me, got in my face and intimidated me and I just hunkered in fear and gave no information except maybe a confession of guilty carnal thoughts.¡± Mike explained.

    ¡°I might say that. What is your point here, preacher, just taunting? They¡¯re gonna get suspicious if the camera stays off too long.¡±

    ¡°I want you to feel powerless and conflicted. By law you just turned off a camera to get a confession from a damn former preacher with a carry license and there is no evidence I did anything wrong, while you on the other hand have been committing multiple crimes to set me up... That I have on tape. You don¡¯t know for a fact I did anything wrong, you just have theories, so that I believe is grounds for termination under harassment and paranoid stalking, not to mention if I had video of you with a hooker, and she wasn¡¯t an informant on police station files. So you should obey the law and turn yourself in for harassing an old man and conspiring with criminals to set him up without evidence of any crime. Dirty cop trail, a mile long. Your own investigation. Now of course you could just bend the rules and let yourself and your sins go, and that would make you a rule breaker who does what he wants if he believes he¡¯s justified, regardless of the laws. Nobody is clean, Detective. We¡¯re all covered in sin and choosing what to ignore and what laws to follow that suit us best. Now I heard from an anonymous source at an AA meeting, don¡¯t remember the guys name actually, but he said you were on the trail of the Lakeshot Shooter. THAT is exciting. I sure hope you find him and bring him in here for questions. Anyone capable of making that shot would have no problem taking out any of us, at any point.¡±

    ¡°What do you know about that?¡± Asked Damien, looking sweaty.

    ¡°I know what the papers said, and some anonymous drunk mentioned you may be on the case. The papers said the guy that the shooter killed, had murdered a young girl. Wild to think someone armed with skills and weapons that can take someone out over a mile away on their porch while they thought they were safe could still be out there, read to kill over... one... girl. He sounds scary. Unstable. Are you worried you may actually find the guy, somewhere where you think you¡¯re safe?¡± Mike said. ¡°Somewhere confined.¡±

    ¡°Camera is off, Preacher Mike. You can say what you wanna say.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying if I were you, I would not want to get shot over a girl, and I would never feel safe knowing someone over a mile away could just¡­take my head off, and I¡¯d never hear the shot, nobody would ever find them, and my loved ones would have to bury my body with a closed casket¡­in the open. Funeral with a lot of empty space in every direction. These crazy shooters, you know how they are, political assassinations, random statement makers, psychos in a bell tower. Once they shoot one round and shit hits the fan, they sometimes start just unloading on everyone. Lotta people die over something stupid, pointless and wasteful. Like stalking some girl and then thinking they were safe on their lakefront porch. All I¡¯m saying, Detective Baker¡­is that there are some really scary people out there who don¡¯t like their loved ones fucked with. Who would kill everyone you know for fucking with them¡± he said, smiling and grabbing his own shirt collar, slamming his own face on the table with a harsh thud and breaking his glasses. ¡°Crazy fuckers.¡± He said doing it again.

    ¡°The fuck is wrong with you?¡± Detective baker asked, standing up and backing away.

    ¡°I swear¡­I didn¡¯t do anything, officer, please don¡¯t hurt me!¡± He said loudly, welling up in tears and a demonic grin, bloody and enjoying it. The door opened, and the chief stood looking confused and alarmed.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯m okay.¡± Mike insisted, hunkering down. ¡°I just wanna go home. I don¡¯t want to press charges, it was an accident. Can I please just go home?¡± he asked as Detective Baker breathed heavily and silently.

    ¡°Mister Finn, you are free to go, and I promise there will not be any further questions, and nobody will bother you again.¡± Said the chief as he shook his hand and thanked him with a nod and turned down the hall to go get his Wallet and gun back.

    ¡°Detective, you wanna tell me what the FUCK just happened?¡± he softly barked.

    ¡°Like he said, just an accident. He slipped and hit his face on the table.¡± he lied nervously.

    ¡°While the cameras were off?¡± he asked. "You pick up some plumber 4 blocks away from the crime, and he calls US saying you were acting hostile. Now he¡¯s in here cooperating, no lawyer, and you turn the cameras off when he mentions something about you and hookers. Damien, that¡¯s not my business, but that camera, stays on.¡±

    ¡°I must have unplugged it by mistake, I was trying to get a confession by telling him the camera was off. He just confessed to missing his wife, got himself a hooker and couldn¡¯t go through with it. He¡¯s not the guy.¡± Baker sighed.

    ¡°No shit, he¡¯s not the guy, Baker. His gun is registered and licensed, doesn¡¯t match the murder weapon, which we can¡¯t find. The guy is a plumber who used to be a priest, for fuck¡¯s sake. He has 2 guns, the one we just processed and a damn Ruger 22 rifle, also legally bought years ago. Did you just assault a retired priest?¡±

    ¡°I said it was an accident. He just fell.¡±

    ¡°Baker, you¡¯re off the damn case, and on a 3-day suspension. You¡¯re lucky he¡¯s too scared to take this to court. Hope he feels that way tomorrow too.¡±

    ¡°Sir, it¡¯s not¡­¡± he pondered to himself.

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna know any more details, I don¡¯t wanna have to lie if you do something stupid, just to cover my own ass, because I won¡¯t cover yours. You¡¯ve been ranting theories about this insane hitman organization, You¡¯ve harassed suspects over this Lakeshot Shooter case, and now you assaulted an old preacher carrying a personal defense gun. Didn¡¯t even have gunpowder on his hands. He hasn¡¯t shot anything in days or weeks. Baker, you are on thin ice, and the next time you decide to turn off a camera for a confession, you better make sure nobody ends up bloody, especially some innocent handyman. There¡¯s bending the rules for a real confession, and then there¡¯s that shit. Learn the line you don¡¯t cross, because wherever the blurry line is, you went way over it and if he presses charges, we never had this conversation and I saw exactly what I just saw, in court. You¡¯re not God, Damien, you¡¯re a cop. We have rules, we bend them sometimes to make something legit stick, but you just broke something, and it may have been a retired preacher¡¯s nose.¡±

    The chief followed Mike to the rear entrance with his gun in a plastic bag, and discreetly lead him to one of the unmarked cop cars.

    ¡°Sir I cannot apologize enough, or thank you for not pressing charges.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t want the whole department in trouble and tied up in paperwork. You people have real crime to fight, and an officer murdered, apparently, right down the road. You need to be working on that, not minor assault charges.¡± Mike said, patting his nose with a cloth.

    ¡°Detective baker has been under a lot of stress lately, but that¡¯s no excuse, and he will be discreetly but severely reprimanded, I assure you.¡±

    ¡°I just¡­I don¡¯t feel safe around him. I think he was following me the other day during a plumbing emergency, followed me to my home. Then he pulled me over aggressively and I cooperated. He acted like just confirming his badge was a crime. I asked him to turn off the camera because I wanted to clear myself with my alibi, but¡­I didn¡¯t want it on record, the person I was with. I don¡¯t know her name. My alibi was a¡­woman of¡­¡±

    ¡°Hooker,¡± he said. ¡°Look, you¡¯re a grown man who got lonely, and tempted. It happens to all of us. I don¡¯t even care if you did anything consensual for cash, don¡¯t tell me and I won¡¯t know, and assume you didn¡¯t. You don¡¯t seem the type of guy to hang out with hookers on a normal basis. What happened was a mistake. Is there anything we can do to make this¡­off the records?¡±

    ¡°Yea, but I will be talking to my lawyer about a restraining order. There is something off about that guy. He scares me, but I trust your department can make sure he doesn¡¯t harass me or confront me. I am legally within my right to defend myself with force, even if he is a cop, and my lawyer will discuss that with me in more detail, so I have something on file in case it happens again. My wife and kid died in a break-in. I don¡¯t trust anyone, especially following me home at night. I also don¡¯t want problems. Sometimes one bad person just¡­snaps out of nowhere and makes everyone else look bad. You responded very quickly when he did. I don''t want the police force losing reputation or anything. I just want HIM nowhere near me.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t be bothered by Detective baker again, I promise. If he so much as mentions you or gives me a suspicious look, I¡¯ll have his badge and paperwork. You can trust the department.¡±

    ¡°Okay." Mike said, ¡°Oh no ride, I love to walk. I walk everywhere. Good for the heart and the mind. Got a little heart condition. Doc says I need to walk more. I¡¯m always out and about.¡± He smiled, taking his gun back out of the bag. ¡°Which is exactly why I carry this. Renegade cops, renegades shooting cops. It''s crazy. You just never know people till it¡¯s too late.¡±

    ¡°You have a safe walk home, preacher.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a preacher anymore. Just a plumber.¡± He corrected.

    Mike strolled down the frosty road, dialing Tanner.

    ¡°Mike¡­oh my shit, are you dead?¡±

    ¡°No, I just left the police station. You got the Glock?¡±

    ¡°Yea. They let you go?¡± she asked, relieved and amazed.

    ¡°Of course they did. I did get roughed up a little by some rogue detective named Baker. You ever hear that name?¡± he asked, a sinister glimmer in his eye.

    ¡°No¡­I don¡¯t know any cops by name.¡±

    ¡°Well this one is trouble, he¡¯ll throw people under the bus to get his way and he won¡¯t be harassing me anymore. If he does, he may lose his job or his life. So be on the lookout for this man.¡± He said sending a picture from the gas station security cam...of her and Baker. ¡°If I see him near you, I¡¯ll kill him.¡± He said, hanging up. She stood silently, unsure what to do or say, or if she should be running. She quickly grabbed the 22 off the wall, unloading it and pocketing the ammo, double-checking her gun and the Glock.

    ¡°So¡­ how is this gonna go down, preacher?¡± she asked herself aloud. Finding a good spot to sit, with a wall to her back and a clear view of the door. She placed both 9mm pistols loaded on the table and rested her hands on them, calming herself and staring at the door lock, waiting. A half hour passed. She calmed her paranoia and opened her eyes, noticing a small red dot on the table between the guns and slowly moving to her chest. The phone rang again, the name "Preacher Mikey" displayed, as she slowly answered it.

    ¡°Hello?¡± she asked. ¡°Mike is that you?¡±

    ¡°Yea that¡¯s me. Are you listening very carefully, Tanner?¡±

    "I am now." she said, staring at the laser dot on her sternum. "I''m listening very carefully."

 Chapter 10: The Lakeshot Secret

    ¡°Leave the guns on the table and come to the front door.¡± Mike said over the phone.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna kill me.¡± Tanner said eyes on the red dot.

    ¡°Not if you leave the guns at the table. I promise. Which one of us has lied thus far?¡±

    ¡°Fair point.¡± She said, slowly walking to the door and stepping outside as something swooped behind her and into the house. She turned to see Mike casually sitting down at the table, taking out Rachel, emptying the magazines as he cracked open a can of soda and smiled, holding up a little flashlight laser and placing it on the table.

    ¡°Sit down tanner.¡± He said in an oddly friendly manner.

    ¡°Are you gonna kill me?¡±

    ¡°No¡­why would I kill you. I like you. You work for me. You do mostly good work, except that minor body armor mistake. They happen, unfortunately. And we adapt.¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯m working with the cops. You''re gonna kill me, and I''m gonna go down stabbing.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re working with Detective baker, and you just stopped working with Detective baker. He''s the one I have a problem with, not you. I feel like you may have just been fired, and he¡¯s not going to harass you anymore.¡± he yawned, spinning the harmless laser pointer.

    ¡°Why? Why aren¡¯t you killing me¡­or him. Or both?¡± she asked

    ¡°God didn¡¯t tell me to. You¡¯re only human, and neither of you have me in a situation where I have to kill you to save my life¡­yet. Detective Baker has still yet to run out of opportunities to try that mistake. Tanner, you didn¡¯t know me, you were over a barrel and being threatened to cooperate by a loose cannon cop with theories and a reputation of going rogue. God told me I can trust you, he never said you¡¯d trust me. He never said I could trust Baker. So¡­¡± he said, loading her snatchgun and sliding it to the other side of the table for her. ¡°If God is wrong, shoot me, and I must have been crazy the entire time to believe it. I¡¯m never going to kill you. If you sell me out and run away, I still won¡¯t kill you. We¡¯re partners, friends, and God thinks we work well together, so you better stop being so scared of me. One day you¡¯ll be doing my job. Now be honest¡­was last night fun or what?¡± he smiled.

    ¡°Honestly, best fucking night I¡¯ve had in a while. Second only to the 6 times I got to actually kill.¡±

    ¡°Worth the risk of getting killed for the rush of doing the right thing, and having faith in someone else that they got your back even when you¡¯re unarmed and scared?¡±

    ¡°Yea. Had kind of a trust-fall bonding thing to it.¡±

    ¡°You trust me now?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I do. You trust me enough to tell me how you made the Lakeshot?¡± she asked. He just chuckled, enjoying his drink.

    ¡°You just passed the test. I¡¯m proud of you. I needed Detective Baker to make an ass out of himself so he¡¯d be off the case. I knew you were an informant the whole time. We¡¯re about to do something really stupid that requires faith and trust because if I¡¯m wrong, we¡¯re both gonna die. If I¡¯m right, we¡¯re about to make our mark on history, and either way there¡¯s gonna be some killing and some moments of doubt.¡±

    ¡°Preacher, I¡¯m a believer now and ready to do God''s work and dumb shit. Just curious, DID you take a vow of celibacy?¡±

    ¡°No, and don¡¯t even go there. Work comes before fun.¡±

    ¡°And apparently it¡¯s the only thing that gets to.¡±

    ¡°This is going to be way more dangerous than anything we¡¯ve ever done before.¡± Mike said, looking at the computer and the blueprints for the address he was given.

    ¡°Um, yea. It¡¯s called graduating to the big time.¡± Tanner clapped.

    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous as hell. This isn¡¯t a quick few shots and clear out, this isn¡¯t bag and dissect one guy, this is practically a Swat raid done by two untrained people with a few guns."

    ¡°I assumed you had like a big wall that spins around and is covered in special weapons. Like the one you made a mile kill with.¡± She implied.

    ¡°According to police records, roughly 2700 yards. With a jacketed tungsten carbide bullet¡±

    ¡°Holy shit, 2700 yards? Maybe you are on divine mode. The hell even is a tungsten carbide bullet?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m actually proud of that one. The lake had too high security to get into the property, I use Gwen for ranged kills. I like to keep the police confused. You know the difference between a 50BMG round fired from a mile and a half and a 50BMG bullet light loaded down to 25 percent power at 200 yards? Because they don¡¯t either. Once that leaves the gun, it¡¯s just a bullet with a specific weight and velocity. Bullets slow down and drop. The trick is to get high enough to match the arc angle, while not getting caught by setting off a cannon over a lake. Gwen can fire a 50 caliber round but not a full powered 50 BMG. That¡¯s over 12,000 foot-pounds of muzzle energy. Takes a very big, very heavy gun. In a semi auto foldable carbine her size that would blow the barrel to pieces, but at 3,000 foot pounds, she runs fine. God told me to make a bullet out of tungsten carbide, and I listened to him. You know, you can just...buy tungsten carbide powder online? You know tungsten carbide is so heavy, an 1100 grain 50BMG round made of it, stays just below subsonic at 3,000 foot pounds of energy? The hardest part about quieting a gun is the crack it makes when the bullet goes supersonic, and even most handgun bullets do that. But a Thousand grain weight projectile takes a lot of power to get up that speed. You add the integral suppressors Gwen has, and the big pipe suppressor in the corner of the garage, well that¡¯s a lot of lethal energy with a whisper of a shot. Nobody hears a thing. The only other way to shoot a full sized 50BMG and not wake everyone on the lake is to be over a mile away when you do it. I¡¯m a pretty good shot, but I¡¯m not THAT good of a shot. Would you even seriously consider that a 50-year-old preacher or plumber with no record of buying any long range rifle or ammo, no military training or marksman competitions could just pull a 20 grand military rifle out of his ass and nail a guy from 1.4 miles out? Nobody could do that, let alone little old me. Now can a 50-year-old man with a good rifle, a scope and an 18-inch suppressed barrel make a 200-yard shot? Sure. Easily. Too easy. Headshot easy. But how do you get in and out without being heard or anyone spotting the 5-foot-long sniper rifle?¡±

    ¡°No idea.¡±

    ¡°You don''t bring one. Gwen fits under a baggy coat when you take her apart, stock folds or detaches, grip folds, swappable barrels from 9¨C18 inches screw right in with standard plumbing threads. An 18-inch barrel may not get you into a human skull at a thousand yards, but at 200, it¡¯s very capable. You leave a clean wiped tree blind and a single 50BMG casing in line with that shot and 2500 yards out past your position, the day before¡­well, a very unfortunate accident. Nobody looks where you actually were when the shot was made.¡±

    ¡°Seems pretty complicated for one kill.¡± she squinted.

    ¡°Well, God has a flair for the brilliantly dramatic and well planned events, and I have a notebook by my bed stand for writing down my dreams. I journal everything, even the nightmares. Nothing gets the blood pumping better than dropping a demon on their lakefront porch in plain sight, except walking down the road with the murder weapon tucked under your arm. You wanna meet Gwen?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been so incredibly gay for a gun in my life.¡± She gleamed.

    Tanner stood looking confused, and a little disappointed, as he held up an Uzi sized weapon.

    ¡°Sooooooo. Where¡¯s the big Gwen?¡± she asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s it. That¡¯s the prototype: my grandfather¡¯s vision and my masterpiece. A 4 pound 15 inch long rifle made of steel and aluminum and some secret ingredients I came up with from a voice in my head.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°You know, for some things, 15 inches and 4 pounds would be really exciting, but it¡¯s a little underwhelming when we¡¯re talking about your biggest rifle.¡±

    ¡°The portability is the point. Don¡¯t underestimate her. She¡¯s fed by a linear magazine that runs the length of the gun, like a p90 on steroids, instead of through the grip like an MP7 of similar size, so no bulky clip sticking out the bottom. Hollow handle means folding capable, no bulky magazine in front or behind the grip. The folding stock rides the top picatinny rail, so it can slide right off, just like the sights, quick change scopes, press one button and the barrel unscrews. The receiver uses the integral suppressors as both an air cushion and a recoil dampener, so the more power you put in her, the more that air pressure compensates. The reason that¡¯s important is that Gwen is a 50 caliber without any inserts, and anything you want WITH inserts, so you can start with a 7mm light machine gun, fully automatic, and if you need a heavy hitter, toss out the insert and drop in a magazine of 50 cal, and she¡¯s now a semi-auto elephant gun, or a shotgun, or a subsonic assault rifle in 50 blackout, dead quiet and capable of punching holes in an armored jeep. Small rifle, large pistol, SMG, just swap the magazines and turn a few knobs. She¡¯s accurate well out past 400 yards, even with my old shaky shooting, hides under a heavy jacket, and the ballistics don¡¯t match anything on the books, unless you want them to match something it¡¯s not. She¡¯s the MP7, if the MP7 didn¡¯t suck and was made for steroid-fueled space marines.¡±

    ¡°I stand corrected. I am getting kinda horny for this gun all over again. What a little Glocktease she is. What other crazy guns do you have?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s about it, actually.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°You¡¯re kidding right?¡± Tanner blinked.

    ¡°No. Most of my kills are done with Rachel at close range, When I need a long range gun or something in full auto, I take Gwen. I have a recently stolen MP5, the stolen Police Glock I¡¯ve never used and the 22 over the fireplace. That¡¯s it, aside from your¡­¡±

    ¡°Snatchgun.¡±

    ¡°Snatchgun.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°So no belt fed or mounted guns on one of the maintenance vehicles?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Grenade launcher, sniper rifles.¡±

    ¡°I never make shots over 400 yards, where Gwen can handle. I¡¯m old and, I have glasses for a reason. 400 yards is about my confident limit. 500 if I''m drinking, which I don''t do anymore.¡±

    ¡°No AA12 behind the bed? No tank in a warehouse? No other guys to call in? Not even a few shotguns?¡±

    ¡°Gwen fires 50 cal shotgun rounds.¡±

    ¡°So basically what you¡¯re saying is you have one awesome gun you can change like a transformer and I have an Mp5. Everything else is handguns and barrel sleeves, and clever reloading wizard shit?¡± she asked, half impressed and half disappointed.

    ¡°Correct.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°The Russian brothers. Molotov twins or whatever.¡±

    ¡°Rachel, loaded with AK rounds. Sniper rifle round in a pistol casing dropped into the barrel before loading the clip.¡±

    ¡°The gang shooting behind the night club.¡± She said bringing up the picture of the newspaper on the computer screen. ¡°4 shooters suspected, rifleman on the roof, 3 guys down in the alley. Took out 8 gang members.

    ¡°All Rachel. Pre-loaded the barrel with a 300 blackout round, shot to the first man in the head from a dumpster, simulated a 100 yard roof shot, fully silenced, the rest of the clip in 7.65 parabellum with rifling matching a VZ61 scorpion machine gun, all subsonic. Those men didn¡¯t know my position so they started firing and gave me a chance to move behind them, emptied the magazine into 2 of them, reloaded to a clip of 32ACP, subsonic, silenced, took down another other 4. Shot the last one with one of their dropped Uzis, and after they were all dead, I climbed a dumpster, swapped inserts to a 10mm with MP5 rifling like the rival gang preferred, put a few rounds in the bodies and scattered some brass casings in 4 different spots. Burned the inserts, appendix holstered Rachel, tossed the unscrewed suppressor parts in the trash as I walked away. Strolled back to the front of the club and joined the crowd of people gathering to see what happened. Police escorted all of us, me included, out of the crime scene.¡± he proudly beamed.

    ¡°I wanna know everything. Everything you¡¯ve ever done, planned, jotted down as a possibility, every detail. I am just¡­fascinated and entranced.¡±

    ¡°Well listen carefully because taking notes is forbidden.¡± Said Mike. "Only I get to take notes, which are encrypted and vague."

    ¡°Cuz that¡¯s how ya get caught?¡± she smirked. ¡°Hey, Mister Lakeshot Magician. What if I start hearing the voice too?¡± she asked, getting suddenly serious.

    ¡°Maybe you will.¡± he smiled.

    ¡°What if I do and our voices disagree? What if I hear the voice, and tells me to do something yours tells you not to do? Do I have faith in you and your god or in mine?¡± she asked darkly, looking nervous.

    ¡°You¡¯ve started hearing it already, haven¡¯t you?¡± he asked. Her eyes welled up a little as she tried to play cool and fearless.

    ¡°Maybe. It¡¯s¡­hard to understand it. It¡¯s faint.¡± She said, sucking up her emotions.

    ¡°They won¡¯t disagree if we¡¯re both listening. Have faith in that.¡±

    ¡°But what if they do? What if one day they contradict? Do I trust you over god, or trust God over you?¡± she asked as he hugged her, letting her calm down and gather her wits.

    ¡°I¡¯ll never hurt you or manipulate you, but I¡¯m not perfect. I¡¯m experienced and wise but human. The only question you need to ask is whether you are clear-headed and hearing the voice correctly. Don¡¯t cloud your head with the booze and the junk. That¡¯s how you get confused and hear things wrong. Always trust God over me, just question if you¡¯re hearing him correctly or if you¡¯re interpreting wrong. Some day you¡¯ll be making those calls and your clarity and faith will be everything. So don¡¯t ever distrust God over me, but if we disagree, question your clarity and faith. If that is sound and clear, then follow it. If the voice is hazy or cryptic, incomplete, you need to listen with a fresh mind and heart. If you are clear and sober, your mind open and receptive, and your heart pure, that voice won¡¯t be iffy or up to interpretation. It will be bold, direct, and crystal clear. There won¡¯t be any question what he¡¯s saying; only whether or not you have the strength to do it. Right now you¡¯re just inexperienced, full of doubt and drugs, which can muddle the mind.¡± He said, patting her back lightly.

    ¡°You really think so?¡± she asked. ¡°But I like the drugs. I had a shitty life. Dealing with that sober is not fun. You really believe if I get my head clear and listen, that we won¡¯t ever get conflicting orders and end up fighting over what to do? Because I¡¯m worried that if I get clean, we may find out that we have different voices guiding us.¡± She asked.

    ¡°You¡¯re just scared, or God has different orders for us because we have different roles to play in the same ultimate plan. I thought the same thing once, what if I get different orders and don¡¯t know what to follow, and that¡¯s why I got off the vodka. It leads to doubt, acting on feelings and ideas rather than clear instructions. The alcohol will clear out. It only has one purpose, and that is to numb the heart and let you make mistakes. Unless you intend to make one, there¡¯s no reason to go back.¡±

    Detective baker sat alone in the dark, papers strewn around the room and a glass of whiskey getting lighter by the minute, loaded gun on the table. The phone rang and the sigh he gave nearly set fire to the paper. He fumbled the phone, answering it reluctantly.

    ¡°Oh now you answer, asshole?¡± said a female voice.

    ¡°Gina, what do you want?¡±

    ¡°I want to talk, I want answers. You got suspended for assaulting a preacher over this conspiracy case you¡¯re still obsessed with, you won''t answer your phone, your texts. I was worried, now I¡¯m just pissed off.¡± She replied.

    ¡°Well take the hint, Gina. I¡¯m a mess, better left to rot.¡± He said as the knock on the door jolted him.

    ¡°Open the door. Now that I know that you''re home, open the door.¡± She sighed, staggered to the door and unlocked it. She stepped in and locked it, looking disappointed in him. ¡°What is this shit? Pity drinking? Is that gun loaded?¡±

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s loaded, chambered, safety off. If anyone else answered the door, it would be cocked and pointed. ANYONE else.¡± He said darkly.

    ¡°Damien what is happening to you? You¡¯re a good cop, you¡¯re a great investigator, and you¡¯re not like this.¡±

    ¡°I had the Lakeshot shooter in the room with me at the police station, Gina. It¡¯s all real. There he was, and I had to let him walk, I had nothing to stand on and he had me by the balls. He got me suspended just to toy with me. Now what? Was that a warning to back off or a warning to get right with god before he takes me out? Do I take him out first or do I just¡­move on? Pretend like he never existed and arrest junkies and speeders, give teenagers parking tickets and speeding tickets, act like nothing is wrong?¡±

    ¡°The Lakeshot Shooter¡­the preacher you beat up?¡± she scoffed, looking like she was about to beat his ass for being so stupid.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t touch him. He played me like a fiddle, like the devil himself in a Georgia soul game, just set me up and gently knocked me down with a warning.¡±

    ¡°Did he actually admit it to you? Did he say the words and confess to your face, or did he just screw with you, and you filled in the gaps?¡±

    ¡°He¡­said enough Gina. He killed a cop that night, and I had him in my car, my back turned, and this man is the same pro that took a man down on his porch when he thought he was safe, over a mile away from anything dangerous, covered in security and armed. Didn¡¯t matter. He¡¯s untouchable. My life may depend on whether I leave him alone or strike first.¡±

    ¡°Damien, don¡¯t you dare strike anything anywhere. You are experiencing one of two things right now. A mental breakdown from over-obsessing over nothing and getting fucked over by one potential suspect that got under your skin and scared you, or you actually did poke the bear and piss off a pro. Either way you need to do nothing. Rest up, lay low. Stop¡­drinking. Start thinking. If that preacher is just a preacher, and you go after him or his friends, you¡¯re the monster. If you¡¯re wrong, you¡¯re the villain. If you¡¯re right, then you need to stay off his bad side and leave him and his people alone. You¡¯re either in way over your head or you just drank yourself into the deep end of the crazy pool. What you do about it is the same solution. Let it go, move on, put it behind you. This is dangerous, either way. Dangerous to your mental health or your fucking life.¡±

    ¡°I disagree. If I¡¯m crazy, then I deserve to be fired and probably locked up, and I¡¯ll never know. If I¡¯m right, then I feel like he¡¯s going to come after me. I can''t win if he makes the first move. I may not be able to in general, but not if he plays first. My only edge is if I jump the gun and get the drop. Gina help me.¡±

    ¡°The help you need isn¡¯t me or in that bottle. You need to trust your damn heart, and right now it¡¯s pumping 2.0 BVA blood through your brain. I know a group. It¡¯s not just for religious people or junkies, it¡¯s for people who need to get back on their game, so just take the help and use it how you need it. Call me when you¡¯re Damien again.¡± She said placing down a card and leaving the room.

    "AA meetings...East side Church of second chances. Seriously?" he sighed.

 Chapter 11: Welcome to AA

    Damien sat in a folding chair as an old farmer stood up, talking, pouring out his heart. A dozen chairs around a circle, some empty with names on them, all first names, and his own chair from the guest stack in the corner.

    ¡°And that¡¯s when I woke up.¡± The farmer said. ¡°Slumped over a steering wheel, truck busted to shit, alone, in some ditch. And I thought about my kids and how I could be dead right now. Broken wrist, few bruises, but alive and thinking clear. I knew what I had to do. I just didn¡¯t have anyone to pick me up. And I found you guys. 6 weeks sober, praise the Lord.¡± He nodded, toasting his solo cup of lemonade. About 5 varying intensities of ¡°Amen¡± whispered through the room. Damien rolled his eyes and stood up, getting another coffee and standing alone as an older woman, tall blonde, heels and a conservative dress approached him.

    ¡°Not your cup of tea?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not my cup of coffee. Coffee is my cup of tea. I just, I dunno. I know I have some kind of problem, missing something or something that¡¯s not supposed to be there. I just don¡¯t see it being God missing from my life that¡¯s the problem. No offense, but either getting sober or medicated seems more likely to fix me. I thought it would be more real, and less¡­praise the lord shit. No offense."

    ¡°No, none taken. The AA groups are all different, and they tend to have a lot of believers, but you can take the message and the ideas, without the higher power. To tell you the truth¡­I don¡¯t believe in God either. I believe we all have good in us and evil in us, and in different amounts. I believe we make choices and mistakes, and when we¡¯re really ourselves we can make the best choices and the fewest mistakes, and when we¡¯re addicted, we¡¯re not our best self. Don¡¯t write us off just yet because you don¡¯t like the churchy bits. You learn to just smile and nod and hear the person talking and their feelings, not the nonsense. Some people can¡¯t accept that they have their own answers, so they put a voice to it. It helps them. I on the other hand, find peace knowing that voice is me, the real me, not the addict, who I am, a smart rational woman making my own decisions and making good ones, most of the time. Just the other day for example. I wanted a smoke so bad it was killing me. I went for a walk and found a local bar with some incredible blues players, open stage night, and by the time the night was done I was sitting in a smokey bar and so deep in true-self I didn¡¯t even smell the smoke or want to have one. I knew what I wanted.¡±

    ¡°Inner piece?¡± Damien asked.

    ¡°A piece of that blues player.¡± She whispered, as Damien spit coffee back into his cup. ¡°Oh I know, I¡¯m 63, but you never stop having desires, friend. Some are just toxic and some make you feel alive. So I made a decision that night, I chatted with him, we had some laughs and I decided he wasn¡¯t what I needed. You gotta pick and choose your temptations wisely, or they own you. Now the week before that, I made a different decision at a different place and time, and I got my man. I don¡¯t regret it. It was right, I was thinking clear, and I fucking had fun. Moderation and being clear-headed when you choose when to have fun and when the fun is too problematic, that¡¯s what it¡¯s about. Maybe you can smoke and party and have wild sex, but the bottle is your kryptonite. Maybe the real problem is your job, your wife, or husband, or just your own damn stupid self. Gotta find out what your demon is before you can put your boot on it.

    ¡°What if I¡¯m just a stressed out cop who needs psyche meds?¡± he asked.

    ¡°What if? I can''t answer that. This is AA, but I assure you, The first A stands for several things. Addicts, not always Alcohol. Your addiction may be that damn job. You got kids? A wife?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No kids¡­The wife part is, um, still in the air. She left me, but the papers aren¡¯t final. It¡¯s final though. Actually, the job may have been the root of that.¡± He said, pondering a moment. "Come to think of it, I cheated on her. I¡¯ve never cheated on anyone before. That¡¯s not me. But I did it. Stone sober and working the job, I got paired with this sexy mean thing working late hours on shit I couldn¡¯t trust anyone else with, not even my wife. Open case shit. Cop shit.¡± He said taking a sip. ¡°I¡¯m not a sex addict. I¡¯m not an alcoholic either, but I lost her, got drunk off my ass over a case¡­same damn case.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like your drug of choice is your work. Ever thought about working somewhere else?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Nah. This is my turf. I own this territory. Nothing goes down here without me getting my teeth into it.¡±

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s the problem. Your temptation isn¡¯t the sex or the alcohol, it¡¯s that badge. Is that badge your weapon, your tool, or do you belong to it. Is it your identity, your crutch, your problem?¡±

    ¡°I suppose I could just say I can quit any time I want to, but I don¡¯t want to because there¡¯s crime to solve, and that just lights up that little Ah-ha bulb don¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Certainly makes you think. Let me ask you something, Officer¡­Smith. Are you a good cop?¡±

    ¡°Yea, I always get my man. Just like you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the question. I didn¡¯t ask if you were a successful cop, or if you took down your quota. Are you a GOOD cop?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You mean do I abuse the badge or follow it like my little church cross? I think I do a good job. The problem may be that the department doesn¡¯t want a good cop, they want an obedient cop who listens to orders.¡± Damien sighed. ¡°Now I kinda wonder if I¡¯m crazy for thinking I¡¯m the only good one left, or if that means I¡¯m not one of the good ones at all. I could certainly be worse. Hell the worst ones tend to get the best positions and promotions.¡±

    ¡°Honey, it sounds like either you¡¯re working in the wrong division or you just workin in the wrong occupation. You can''t fix a crooked system. You gotta get out of the toxic pit and leave it behind. You can¡¯t just hold your breath and go under, thinking it will change just because you¡¯re floating in there. You¡¯re not that contagious. You¡¯re just a mismatched man butting heads with a bad fit, and one day you keep forcing that key in the wrong lock it¡¯s gonna turn alright, but you won¡¯t break the lock, you¡¯ll just twist yourself to fit it, and get stuck.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying quit being a cop?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m sayin quit being a good cop in a bad cop¡¯s territory. There are more of them than you, so you¡¯ll either join them or break under them. You won¡¯t fix them. There are places where a good cop would be appreciated and needed. You¡¯re just in the wrong damn doughnut shop, my friend.¡±

    ¡°Damn. That¡¯s tough shit. I respect the honesty. I know this is supposed to be anonymous and all but, you got a name?¡±

    ¡°Yea I do. Catherine. You don¡¯t need a last name.¡±

    ¡°Damien, no last name either. Who would have thought the odds?¡± he smiled. ¡°So what do you do for work if you don¡¯t mind me askin?¡±

    ¡°Most people don¡¯t ask, it¡¯s rather outside the lines but people here trust me and you gotta give back a little of that. I worked at the casino. I worked FOR the casino. They owned me. Now I¡¯m retired. I still do a little work, night clubs, private friend groups. You could say I just stopped taking the money for it, and started doing my own thing, same idea, no boss. Luckily I saved up and money isn¡¯t a motivation, just a temptation.¡±

    ¡°What made you quit?¡±

    ¡°Death paid me a visit.¡± She said darkly.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± he chuckled.

    ¡°Lung cancer. Smoking. Had a man in a room look me coldly in the eyes and said: do you wanna live or die?¡± she said. ¡°And I realized the stress from the work driving me to chain-smoke might kill me before the cigarettes do. Either way, I was out. I got myself to one of these groups, mutual friend whispered in my ear so to speak, and here I am. Alive past my deadline, and doing great. I don¡¯t expect to live forever, but I expect to keep living till I die, and not work for some shady cheating bastards screwing me over, so I could make money. The cancer was just karma, or coincidence. Ever since then I stay away from the organizations and stick to my own rules, black coffee, some dark silky slide guitar, and the occasional blues player. I even became a sponsor. Got a nice man right now who calls me at weird hours when his demons knock, and he thinks about answering. Good man, bad luck, clean soul. We met at a blues bar, me dealing blackjack in a smokey room and him drunk of his ass looking for trouble. He doesn¡¯t fit with the whole churchy amen stuff either. Got his own way of doin religious things, but he does it, and he does well.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Now we don¡¯t do that here. You can say hi my name is Damien, and I can say, hello I¡¯m Catherine, but we don¡¯t drop names that we don¡¯t own here. That gets you in trouble. You¡¯ll learn, or you won¡¯t. Maybe you¡¯ll say fuck this nonsense and go back to work. Maybe you¡¯ll save the world, or maybe you¡¯ll kill a kid at a traffic stop over a joint just reachin for a wallet.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s dark. You¡¯re not crazy for saying it, just bold for saying it. Lotta cops end up fucking up more lives than their own. Actually, one of the guys I worked with got himself killed, and you know the sad part? Nobody seems to miss him. Between the shit he let slide, and the shit he bought way above our salary, most of us just bowed a head and said: ain¡¯t that a shame, and what we were all thinking was¡­finally caught up to his fat ass I guess. Shot 3 times in an alley over a rival gang to the one he was paid off by. I guess they didn¡¯t have as much bribe money, but they had better guns.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°And you all knew he was crooked as an alligator¡¯s dick and didn¡¯t bust him. You wonder why I keep implying you are in the wrong doughnut shop, Damien. You don¡¯t seem like a piece of shit.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, I try.¡±

    ¡°So why do you work with them? Why do you work for them, let them tell you what to do and when to take a shit, when you¡¯re the one asking questions and looking for the truth and they¡¯re getting shot in alleys in between gangs they get bribed by?¡±

    ¡°Someone has to stand their ground or the ship goes under.¡±

    ¡°No Damien¡­ sometimes the ship is just sinking, and you¡¯re just sittin there scooping out cups of water instead of getting a raft and saying fuck the boat. Boats sink. Some are not worth saving. Find another boat or stop sailing. Lotta jobs that don¡¯t involve boats. Lotta boats with good bones. Don¡¯t go down with the ship. It¡¯s not your job, Damien. If I were you, I¡¯d put a hole in the bottom of it as I left, and paddle my ass away.¡±

    Tanner paced back and forth with a half-pint bottle of gin in her coat, tightening the lid and looking nervous and cold. She listened for the voice and eyed the warm building lit with yellow light, both nervous at the idea of people, and the idea of a giant cross staring at her. She tossed the bottle in the dumpster and decided to avoid both. She blew into her mittens to keep her fingers warm as she spotted something that made her even colder, scooting back behind the dumpster for cover.

    ¡°Are you fucking kidding me?¡± she asked the darkness. ¡°Well? Is that a sign or something? Nothing? Not a maybe or a no?¡± she whispered angrily at the sky, as the familiar figure walked along to his car. ¡°I know it¡¯s him, he¡¯s supposed to be fucking off right now, why is he at Mike¡¯s AA group?¡± she asked nobody or God. ¡°Damien you lying suicidal prick, she said, checking her pocket knife, the rainbow blade barely visible in the parking lot light. ¡°Tell you what, if you won¡¯t talk to me, I¡¯ll just give you the options. I¡¯m sober, I¡¯m trying this crazy shit, and there is my temptation right in the damn parking lot. So if you DON¡¯T want me to kill him¡­do something or say something, mkay?¡± she asked with an attitude. ¡°Fine. Stabby gets to play. Fuck with my man, you get to taste the rainbow, bitch. Let¡¯s go.¡± She said softly, getting hyped up, wishing she had her bottle back now, breathing heavy and hopping in place to get the blood pumping, suddenly jumping as a hand touched her shoulder.

    ¡°Missy, are you okay?¡± asked a friendly voice.

    ¡°Oh holy hell you scared the BeJes¡­jangle out of me.¡± She said feeling almost guilty about finishing that name, given her location, intentions, and sin of choice.

    ¡°You out here all alone in the cold talking to yourself?¡± he asked, peering into the dumpster and seeing the bottle. ¡°drinking alone?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh chill the¡­heck out, I¡¯m fine. But I think I got the hint I was looking for. Just a little confusing, I¡¯m dealing with some shi-, some shtuff, things and stuff.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t look old enough to drink, let alone be out alone at night, freezing. Come on in. The church is warm, we got coffee and even some spare coats if you need one.¡±

    ¡°And people, and rules, and¡­other stuff.¡± Tanner argued.

    ¡°The lord accepts all, and the people are all leaving. Come on in and get warm, sweetie. You need the shelter as much as the coffee.¡± He said, leading her in, as she realized she was too cold to walk back to the Van.

    ¡°Maybe just long enough to warm up and call my ride. My um¡­boyfriend recommended one of these places. I snuck out to check it out. Found this card. Found some other things here too.¡± She said watching Detective Baker¡¯s car roll down the road as the last to leave.

    She sipped her coffee and sobered up from the cold as the priest sat with her.

    ¡°Your parents must be worried sick. What are you¡­17?¡±

    ¡°Uh, 16. My parents are dead, I got nobody worried sick. My boyfriend sleeps like the dead, I may have to call him 3 or 4 times if he¡¯s in the bedroom. You mind giving me a ride if he doesn¡¯t pick up. He has a tendency to not answer when he¡¯s in there¡­studying." She tempted.

    ¡°Well, maybe you just need to let him sleep. If he doesn¡¯t care about you, then you can stay here.¡± He said, placing his hand on her thigh. She jumped up and backed away.

    ¡°Dude, I¡¯m 16.¡± She lied.

    ¡°You know running away from home is what lead you astray, down this path. You need guidance and discipline, I can see that now.¡± He said, looking angry and in a strange way, happy.

    ¡°Hey don¡¯t try anything weird, creepo. My boyfriend will kill you.¡±

    ¡°No he won¡¯t. Nobody knows you¡¯re here. You don¡¯t have a boyfriend or anyone to call, hooker. Your kind show up here sometimes looking for God, but here in this house, after the meetings are over, this is MY church, not theirs. My rules. You give that up for drugs and money anyway, whore, but not for obedience. See that¡¯s your problem. No guidance.¡± He said, standing up and pacing to the door, locking it. ¡°No man in your life to guide you, and no willingness to listen to one when they do. Submitting to the man is how a woman finds her place. And those who spare the rod spoil the child¡­¡± he said, picking up one of the brass candleholders like a bat, tapping his open palm. ¡°And spoiled children will fall into sin. Now you found this place for a reason, child.¡±

    ¡°So just to clarify, you¡¯re gonna help me whether I want it or not, and un-spoil me a little if I don¡¯t submit and know my place?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Quick learner, but you look like a stubborn brat who will be trouble. So, are you going to be trouble?¡± he asked, practically growing horns with the look of lust in his eyes. She looked up at the cross on the wall and smiled darkly.

    ¡°Mysterious ways¡­I¡¯m getting it. Thank you, God, for this fun little twist.¡± She giggled, flipping the knife open behind her back. ¡°Oh, and I plan to be VERY big trouble.¡± She said, pointing the gun at his face. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry, I don¡¯t plan to shoot you unless you force me to do so. Well¡­this is a house of prayer, you might wanna get on your knees for this.¡± She grinned, devilishly.

    Mike sat impatiently as his phone rang, and he grabbed it like a gun he was ready to draw for hours.

    ¡°Tanner, where are you? Where is the Van?¡±

    ¡°Mike I¡¯m so sorry, I didn¡¯t wanna wake you up, you were in your bullet cave and I have a confession to make. I stole your Van, but for a good cause.¡±

    ¡°Where are you, are you safe?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just fine. Never better.¡± She giggled, white and red makeup covering her face, black lipstick and a hint of a red kimono around her neck as she closed her eyes and sighed happily. ¡°I just woke up and found your little AA card, felt something leading me here, so I just borrowed the van. I met someone friendly, and I really think I understand what you meant now. There is a voice, it¡¯s just hard to hear. But when you ask and really listen, it whispers to you.¡± She said flipping around the bloody knife.

    ¡°But you¡¯re not hurt or upset, are you headed back?¡± he asked.

    ¡°If it¡¯s okay, I think I need some alone time to really think now that I¡¯ve sobered up. God has something for me, I need a while to process this. Can I please have some alone time, I¡¯ll bring the van back soon, you don¡¯t need it for a while, do you?¡±

    ¡°Just promise me you¡¯re not doing anything stupid like getting high with some asshole junkie, and you¡¯ll be back by 5 or 6. I worry about you.¡±

    ¡°Aww, I worry about you too, gramps. I¡¯ll be back soon, I just am right in the middle of this breakthrough, and I promise I am stone sober, and I feel amazing. Three hours, tops.¡±

    ¡°Alright, fine. Just be safe and don¡¯t trust anyone. There are creeps out there.¡±

    ¡°Trust me I know, I¡¯ve met a few. Anyway, I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re cool with this, I appreciate the understanding, and I will be back soon, we can get a pizza or something and a movie. I¡¯ll be there by 6, count on it.¡± she promised, setting her alarm.

    ¡°Alright, it¡¯s a date.¡± He smiled.

    ¡°Oh is it now?¡± she grinned slyly.

    ¡°Well, not like that, but¡­dinner at 6. I¡¯ll see you here. He said hanging up.

    ¡°Mike, you are one dense bastard and a tough nut to crack.¡± She sighed. ¡°Now YOU on the other hand¡­lot softer.¡± She said, spinning and twirling her knife. ¡°Like Jello. Must be the marbling, all those communion wafers and wine. You know, if you kept your gluttonous grubby hands on the kinda flesh you get at the store and off the 16-year-olds, we wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation about your marbling. Mike¡¯s right though.¡± She said, walking past the fat man taped to the chair, covered in cuts and blood. ¡°I really do need to sharpen this thing, or God-forbid, maybe get another knife. I mean, that really sucks for both of us because it means I gotta do a lot more sawing than cutting, and neither of us prefer that. But everything happens for a reason I guess, and you just gotta make due with what ya got. I got a dentist office and a really dull mall-ninja-ass knife. What you gonna do?¡± she asked as she answered with desperation grunts and muffled jerking. ¡°Oh like you¡¯re gonna break those zipties, Mister Stay-Pufft, those will restrain a 200 pound juicer with a 6 pack and coke in his blood. You¡¯re not leaving that chair in one piece. You¡¯re leaving the chair, but¡­you know¡­in increments. Hey you¡¯re lucky, I got places to go, and I gotta do this kinda fast so it¡¯s not like I have all day to kill you, this will be over super fast, like an hour tops. So¡­hands or feet first? Not gonna answer?¡± she asked as he sobbed, and she ironically ripped off the tape from his mouth.

    ¡°Please let me go. I promise I¡¯ll stop." he begged.

    ¡°I believe that. You¡¯re done hurting hookers. The question is just really down to the details. Like if you were honest with how many girls you¡¯ve hurt, and really said you were sorry for each of them. I¡¯ll stab you in the ear. It¡¯s actually painless, you die like instantly. I¡¯ve done it. You¡¯re not my first rodeo. OR you could beg and be stupid and lie and say you never did bla bla, this was a misunderstanding euguuuugh, I¡¯m so innocent. And that¡¯s when I get out the plumbing tools and this takes a lot longer, and you¡¯ll feel it. Like a lot. Pipe cutters, blowtorch, I don¡¯t know what this thing even is, but it¡¯s got like handles and a grindy hole in the middle. Ooh, thread cutter. This cuts threads in pipes, I know this now¡­ probably cuts threads in anything really, anything that fits in here. So¡­how many girls. Every time you lie I try out a new fun toy, and I¡¯m really just discovering these things. They look fun. Fun for me.¡± she giggled, clicking the torch.

    ¡°6 girls.¡± He said. ¡°Six girls, all hookers. Some of them were over 18, I swear, I just wanted them to stop sinning and settle down. It¡¯s not so bad, they just wouldn¡¯t listen. I didn¡¯t kill any of them. I let them go¡­once I realized they weren¡¯t going to understand and stop that nonsense. I just wanted someone. Someone who would do like the book says and obey, act proper.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all I wanted to know. No more details. Good boy.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to kill me. I know I¡¯ve gotten carried away with myself, but I meant the best intentions for all of them. Just¡­consider forgiveness.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°You really think it¡¯s debatable whether or not I¡¯m gonna let you live? OOOh, honey, I¡¯m a lying little bitch. I¡¯m not even gonna kill you quick. I just wanted to make sure this wasn¡¯t a misunderstanding. No you see, we¡¯re using the tools, all of them. I gotta learn somehow, and experience is the best teacher. There was never any ear-hole thing. I just made that up.¡± She chuckled. ¡°Nah fuck that. I¡¯m having fun. But I do have to hurry, it¡¯s gonna take an hour to clean up the body so that¡¯s only an hour to play, and I gotta be back by dinner, or Mike¡¯s gonna worry and be sad, and I¡¯ll feel bad for being late and making him worry, and then nobody¡¯s happy. We can¡¯t have that, can we? Alrighty, let¡¯s do the nose first. That just¡­feels right.¡± She said, scrunching her nose up and igniting the torch.

 Chapter 12: Frustrations

    Mike stared at Tanner, kicking her feet as she stared down the scope and fired another round at the paper target.

    ¡°Damn, when you said this thing has some recoil, you weren¡¯t joking.¡± She grinned.

    ¡°Depends on the round. That¡¯s the lightest round in the 50 cal. That¡¯s the 50 blackout case I used on the Lakeshot, just with lead instead of jacketed tungsten.¡±

    ¡°Is that why they¡¯re louder?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Lead is cheap and easy to practice with, but not subsonic at this power. You¡¯re a naturally good shot. I¡¯ve been watching your form, it¡¯s very intuitive.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re just watching my fat ass jiggle? No wonder you brought the big shells today.¡± she smirked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not even going to engage with you, you¡¯ll just believe what you wanna believe. Now, 7mm pistol rounds. I wanna see how fast you can swap out the barrel. You just unscrew the end cap, drop in this insert, screw it back on, make sure it lines up with the groove. Last round keeps the bolt open. The magazine pulls out of the front, when you slap in a fresh one, the gun is cocked and locked, bolt release lever here. The 7mm pistol round doesn¡¯t have much kick but the lighter faster rounds are hard to quiet, so expect a loud crack. I got 5 rounds loaded up. I want you to switch to full auto, dump all 5 on target, toss the barrel insert and load in the 50 mag, switch to semi-auto and take 3 well-aimed 50 cal shots.¡± He said. "As fast as you can reload, and then take your time on the 50''s, accuracy counts more than speed here.

    She did as instructed, and placed all 5 auto rounds on the cardboard, top right, switch, all 3 of the 50 caliber rounds right in the 5 inch center from a hundred yards.

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s just fun. We gotta have an auto day where we just burn 7mm ammo.¡±

    ¡°You do realize I make these from scratch, and you can¡¯t buy more.¡± he said dryly.

    ¡°Right¡­sorry.¡± She grinned with an ¡°oopsie¡± look in her big wide eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re in a weirdly good mood.¡± He said with curiosity.

    ¡°I¡¯m just having a good time with you. And the AA thing really helped. I didn¡¯t think it would, I kinda thought¡­¡± she hesitantly paused, muttering from the corner of her mouth. ¡°Maybe it was kinda feelygood bullshit, but I tossed my booze out, I said a lot to God and he didn¡¯t say much back, and then I saw an old friend, met a new guy who had some very therapeutic things to say. And I think I¡¯m learning to hear the voice. I¡¯m definitely going back." she smiled.

    ¡°Alone or do you want support?¡± he asked with a nervous look.

    ¡°Honestly. I think I wanna do this solo, I like our thing, but this feels like a me thing. I do have a question. I know you don¡¯t kill PEOPLE, people. Just things, but if you thought someone was after me and posed a threat me, not some demon, just a person... Would you kill them to protect me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Of course. Taking a life to defend another life is not ideal, but it¡¯s sometimes unavoidable. Is someone after you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, I just meant like if shit went wrong and someone was gonna get you, and I just clapped their ass before they could, you¡¯d understand right? You wouldn''t say it was lack of faith that God would have protected you if someone was actively on you and gonna mess you up. Even if they were just reacting or in the heat of the moment, or confused. If I thought you were gonna die, and I had to put someone down, just a regular normal human guy, that¡¯s forgivable? Right?¡± she questioned

    ¡°Tanner, I never know if you¡¯re just being hypothetical or worried about something bad happening. I wouldn¡¯t blame you, I¡¯d thank you. It¡¯s not a celebration when you have to take a human life, but it could some day be necessary. Why so paranoid all of a sudden? Let me ask you something different. Did you notice anything about the group that was a bit¡­ different?¡± he smiled.

    ¡°No, they seemed pretty cool. One guy was an asshole, but I¡¯m not really worried about him.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t go inside, did you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Uh¡­wha- I have you know¡­I¡­ went inside.¡± She defended on a technicality.

    ¡°You sat in the parking lot and chickened out, never left the van, did you? You went out to have some fun elsewhere, I get it. You¡¯re young, you had a vehicle, churches aren¡¯t your thing.¡±

    ¡°Okay, honestly, I spotted someone I know and chickened out, but I went in after almost everyone left. So I did go there, and I went inside for a while and talked to someone, I did the God thing. I just missed the actual meeting. I guess technically I avoided the group, but I tried, I had my reasons, and I hung out and drank some coffee, tossed the booze. I don¡¯t think I can be part of the meetings with someone I know there, but maybe he¡¯ll stop going. How did you know? Am I just that easy to read?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Who did you know there?¡± he asked, looking concerned.

    ¡°Not exactly a friend, more like a former employer. Someone I should avoid. Why the snippy nosey shit, I know people, I don¡¯t always get along.¡± she snipped.

    ¡°Tanner, the group isn¡¯t just an AA group. Everyone going there has killed someone, or they just picked the wrong group to attend with. They''re all serial killers.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an Assasin¡¯s Anonymous club?¡± she said, looking blown away.

    ¡°Not exactly. The lady who runs the group has a way of finding people who have taken a life before. It¡¯s a very un-advertized group, the meeting places change. If you ended up there, it¡¯s probably because you got this card from Catherine, my sponsor. I don¡¯t attend, I just call her.¡±

    ¡°Why not? Hell, why not recruit from there?¡±

    ¡°I tried that, problem is one of the members went bright on the thermals and I had to¡­remove him from the attendance list. She suspects it was me. Nobody else knows about the thermals, Tanner. Keep that between us. She probably assumed we had history, otherwise I would have been a marked target. The group isn¡¯t very open about their activities, it¡¯s not a bunch of hitman stories and trading ideas. Everyone has their cover addiction, some of them are actual addictions, nobody knows what temptations and falling off the wagon is the drugs or the booze or the sex addiction, and what part is killing people. It¡¯s very cryptic and unspoken. Nobody asks for last names, nobody asks about your kids unless you bring it up, nobody outright says: Hello I¡¯m mike, and I killed 4 people last week.¡± He said with a solemn tone. ¡°We all kinda just know why we¡¯re there and if Catherine picked you, and you got a card, there was a reason. She has a way of knowing. So my concern is that you saw someone you know, and that means they¡¯re a killer.¡±

    ¡°Nobody I can¡¯t handle. It¡¯s not like the whole room isn¡¯t filled with fucking killers anyway. I''m one of them.¡±

    ¡°Did anyone¡­light up the parking lot?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t watch from a thermal scope, I watched from a dumpster, and I parked the van a block away. Why, you think there¡¯s some people there ripe for picking off?¡±

    ¡°Crossed my mind. Went there twice and found a mark, who¡¯s to say there¡¯s not several. That¡¯s why I don¡¯t go. If I come back and people keep dropping, Catherine will see the pattern. It¡¯s just too tempting. And I can handle any of them, except maybe her.¡±

    ¡°Is she really that good?¡± tanner asked.

    ¡°You don¡¯t get out of the Casino mob group alive, let alone stay alive. She did. She took down somewhere between 20 and 30 people before they just let her walk. She has connections, so I don¡¯t wanna kill her even if I thought I had a good chance of actually doing it. Sometimes you know who not to piss off. People who lack that skill tend to end up dead. So if you wanna check out the group, It may be good for you, and it may be the best way for you to hear God¡¯s voice. Lotta the members¡­Quit their addictions or made peace with it through her group. Just don¡¯t bring thermals, and I would prefer not to go with you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We don¡¯t have to do everything together. I had a blast just chatting with one of the stragglers in the parking lot and going in after for coffee and a little abstract discussion about God that makes far more sense now that I know why.¡±

    ¡°Just be safe. You¡¯re an adult, you¡¯re a killer, and your biggest problem was the junk and the sloppy crime scene cleanup, and you¡¯ve leaned a lot of lessons about both. Just remember that a room full of killers is just as much a room of rivals and enemies as it is allies and friends. Just because there are rules doesn¡¯t mean they don¡¯t get broken, and you can¡¯t un-kill someone.¡± He said. Taking Gwen and making a few practice shots himself.Stolen story; please report.

    Detective Baker¡¯s picture glowed on a screen in a dark room, as Catherine sipped her gin and tonic, She picked up her phone and squinted at the image.

    ¡°Still no sign of Tim?¡± she asked. ¡°Interesting. Tim wasn''t the most likes member, but he had connections with the church and if he''s missing, he''s dead. Dead the day Damien made his first appearance. No I didn¡¯t give him a card, he just showed up. Didn¡¯t say exactly who referred him to the group. But Tim was there, new guy shows up, a cop, Tim disappears. ¡°I find that QUITE interesting. No arrests made, no police records, and it says here Officer Damien is currently on a break from detective work, I also had a call last week from our old friend Mike, who said he felt very closely watched by someone within the police circle, and I see here the very same Damien Baker took him into police custody after a cop was killed, and he was released an hour later. Damien specializes in, of all things, cases of unsolved serial killers. Now isn¡¯t that just dandy, and he shows up at my group unannounced and just sits back observing.¡± She said.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s suspicious as hell.¡± Said the male voice.

    ¡°Yea. We have rules you know. Police aren¡¯t supposed to question those in my group, let alone walk in the fucking meeting the night someone goes missing. I know Mike is not officially a member, but he is clearly being targeted, and it¡¯s too damn close to be coincidence. I want everything on this guy. His family, his home, his partner if he has one on active duty, get some dirt for me.¡± She said, hanging up and sighing heavily. ¡°You cocky son of a bitch. Walk right in and drop your actual name in MY meeting like you own the place.¡± She chuckled, shaking her head at the arrogance. ¡°I¡¯m amazed Mike hasn¡¯t taken you out already.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Mike, when are you really gonna take me out already?¡± Tanner asked, kicking her feet in the chair that was too tall for her.

    ¡°We just got back from the range.¡± he scoffed.

    ¡°I mean OUT-out. Like just to dinner or to a club where we¡¯re not killing anyone. Like, I love going out and killing someone, but we never just go out.¡± she hinted.

    ¡°I guess there¡¯s just a lot of work to be done, my recreation usually involves blues and reloading, like right now.¡±

    ¡°Not that this isn¡¯t lovely and stuff and not that my imaginary-dick isn¡¯t super hard watching you make bullets for hours every day, but don¡¯t you ever just¡­go out? Not research, supplies, or hits. Not stalking a target or covering your alibi for something, aside from the casino money scam, do you just socialize?¡±

    ¡°No¡­I kill people. I can¡¯t let people get close, they may find out, and they wouldn¡¯t understand. You¡¯re the first decent person that seems to."

    ¡°And yet¡­here we are. Reloading magnesium shells in a basement, to what I still firmly believe is old record player porno music. Fuck music, but no fuckin. No date night. When was the last time you went out for a date? Not a setup you tolerated or a potential kill¡­a real date.¡±

    ¡°Not for several years, and it didn¡¯t go well. Nice lady from the group. She bored me, she thought my faith was stupid, I left early. Before that, just my wife. Honestly, it¡¯s been so long I don¡¯t even know what to do.¡±

    ¡°Shit, fam. That¡¯s depressing. Your poor dick. After that long you¡¯re probably super hopeless of ever connecting with anyone, it¡¯s a damn shame nobody gets you or hangs out with you all day or knows you¡¯re a killer, that would be awkward to find out unless THEY were a killer too. Like¡­¡± she silently laughed ¡°the fuck are the chances of that, right? Some hottie just liking you anyway, practically throwing ass your way and even tolerating your boring stuff like reloading and metal detector gardening at the range. God, if only there were someone just, close by and shit you could trust. Too bad that¡¯s never gonna happen.¡±

    ¡°Tanner, I''m not blind or clueless. I just don¡¯t understand your fascination with me.¡± he said.

    ¡°Do you have to?¡± she shrugged. ¡°I mean if it was a trap, I¡¯d have killed you by now or tried and GOT killed. Who cares why?¡±

    ¡°Because this is a rare situation where I can train someone to do my work, who is obligated and willing to trust me. This is bigger than just us and our feelings and feelings get in the way of work. If things got romantic and didn''t work out, the partnership would fail, the job would be ruined and someone would get killed.¡±

    ¡°Bonnie and Clyde made it work.¡± She shrugged.

    ¡°Both shot to pieces by cops.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but like we¡¯re gonna die eventually, you probably sooner just from old age. We could get murked by some cop or vengeance killer any moment, any day. If God wanted you to be sad and alone he would have maybe sent you a dude, or an ugly chick, some young lesbian, or just some appreciate that thinks older men are gross, or someone like you with just zero sex drive. Bruh, you literally got a killer hooker who has no other bed to sleep in and no home to go back to.¡± she huffed.

    ¡°That¡¯s partially my point. You¡¯re stuck with me, I¡¯m giving you free room and board and food, shelter from the cold, a home. You do favors for money to survive, and I¡¯ve given you the equivalent of 6 months work in overhead and free shit, not to mention favors and training, covered your crime scenes. You probably feel like you owe me, and have to return the favor somehow. You have no money, no possessions, nothing of physical value to pay me with. You feel a debt, and you¡¯re just grateful for the help. You don¡¯t actually find me attractive, you have a moral push to pay the favor back. If you met me any other way, called me to fix your heater, or wandered into some blues club by accident and spotted me waiting for a ride, you¡¯d have never even considered me a potential date. I¡¯m not basing a risky, complicated relationship, on owing me one and lack of options.¡± he explained.

    ¡°Firstly, how do you know any of that? Opposites attract, people have types. You have one, I have one. Maybe mine is you. The fact that you¡¯re NOT hanging that fact over my head for favors, that I owe you, is really sweet. The preacher thing seems like a drag until you find out you have your own moral code, and it makes sense, and you¡¯re just crazy enough to not make me seem like the obvious crazy one¡­but not so crazy you¡¯re just a nutcase. I¡¯m starting to see your spirituality points make sense, and not just bullshit. I¡¯m also kind of a bitch, if I wanted to take free handouts and get spoiled for nothing in return, news flash, I¡¯m fine with not paying you back. You said I didn¡¯t have to, I¡¯m off the hook, no pun intended. I don¡¯t owe you¡­because you told me I don¡¯t. Deals are deals, if they say it¡¯s free it¡¯s free. I do not feel the need to pay back every favor unless the deal was that I do something in return for that favor. Plus, you hit me with a van, I should be annoyed about that. I forgive you. We¡¯re just two adults that work together, you hired me, I do my work, we both have some off-time, what¡¯s the problem with enjoying it? Am I honestly just not your type at all, or do you not remember what your type even is, and you aren¡¯t looking for one?¡± she asked "Am I a temptation you deny or no temptation?"

    ¡°It''s not you. Maybe this job just leaves you dead inside.¡± he said coldly, loading shells.

    ¡°Oh bullshit. I do the same thing, it¡¯s fun. Yes, it limits your dating options, but here we are, and you have an AA group of killers if ladies aren¡¯t your jam or something. Do you just not feel alone? Hey, Mister bifocals, eyes up here. Just honestly give this a once over and tell me truthfully that you don¡¯t remotely find me attractive at all, and there¡¯s just zero thoughts in your head when I do this¡­¡± she said, grabbing the chair seat and lifting her knees up, with a seductive pout.

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t seem like an unnecessary risk to you? Complication to an already dangerous and complex thing we have?¡± he asked

    ¡°HA¡­you didn¡¯t say no. And yea, but complex is fun. What¡¯s the point of being alive if you don¡¯t live in it? You love the complex hits, the details, the risk, the unnecessary danger like taunting the cops cutting open a dead guy to see if he¡¯s full of evil shit or not. You¡¯re just afraid you¡¯re too far out of the game to know how to play, and you probably are. Honestly if you tried picking me up at a bar you would absolutely fuck it up. You would say only the boring shit and hide who you are, and come off as dull and weird and ruin it. Thank God, you didn¡¯t do that. You went with the cow-catcher approach and just put me on the hood, and then let me get to know you better. You say you got nothing to offer, and why would anyone want some old weirdo? You¡¯re James Bond and Sherlock Holmes rolled into one. You¡¯re clever, you¡¯re loyal, and don¡¯t act like we don¡¯t share a rare common interest just because I like Synthbass Goth rave music, and you like slow dance piano porn tracks, or that you¡¯re old and dorky, and I¡¯m hip and cool. So what? We like guns and knives and righteous assassinations, cabins in the woods, and BBQ chicken pizza. Marriages are built on less common ground because two people had fitting genitals and were both single and liked one movie. THAT is insane. People make that work too.¡± She sighed. ¡°You¡¯re just not trying.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right. You want the truth. You¡¯re very attractive, you¡¯re fascinating, you¡¯re adorable. The things about you nobody would understand, I understand. The things I don¡¯t understand, fascinate me more. And the last time I felt that way about someone, we had a life together, and she got killed. Safest job in the world, working at a church for a youth program. Killed by a random break-in because someone said preachers keep the church money in their home safes, and they thought nobody would be home on a holiday weekend. Now I hunt and kill some of the nastiest people alive and people want me dead or in prison, and my home is a target, and you work with me. If I had anything close to what I lost and lost it again, nothing about me would survive it. My faith, my principals, my work, nothing. I would either become a sad drunk and blow my head off while a record plays in the dark, or go on a killing spree I know I wouldn¡¯t walk away from just to pretend like I died doing something useful. It really isn¡¯t you, Tanner. It¡¯s me, it''s the job.¡±

    ¡°And yet¡­You believe God put me here specifically to continue your purpose, and instead of a lezbo or a boy, he sent me. Runaway nobody with nothing, kinda hoping to do something stupid and pretend it mattered. Lotta classic cars are left old and broken in some garage because nobody wanted to risk ruining it. Eventually we all die, we all crash and wear out. Why waste the chance? I¡¯m just saying, think about it.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°I assure you I¡¯ve thought about it a lot. I just haven¡¯t decided if this old ticker is fixable, or if it¡¯s rusted through and better left for scrap.¡± he said.

    ¡°Yea, well, you don¡¯t know how good my body work is. Kinda hard to say it¡¯s totaled if you won''t even let someone check under the hood. Kinda guarantees you already failed if you didn¡¯t try. Sounds like an excuse to quit. Have you prayed about it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°A lot. Probably doubled my chat time since I met you.¡±

    ¡°Did he ever just say: No! Resist temptation, do more training! Or are you just asking over and over, hoping he would so you¡¯ll be off the hook? Seems like you don¡¯t wanna be fixed. I¡¯ve accepted you just the busted-ass way you are. The only part I¡¯m suggesting you get repaired is the being sad and lonely part. You really wanna just keep THAT part broken? Really? Why? You sure? That seems dumb. You¡¯re not dumb, you¡¯re clever. The fuck is that about? Kinda just sounds like fear. You¡¯re not afraid of cops and killers and getting shot at¡­you''re really that scared of a little street-brat in a plaid skirt and tennis shoes?¡± she said, raising her eyebrows.

    ¡°You have stabbed people before.¡± He joked with a smile. ¡°But truthfully, if you were the thing that killed me, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d even mind. Better than some cop or creep. We¡¯ll do dinner out. Not sure when or where yet. Let me work on that. Work is priority, but I will consider some social time.¡±

    ¡°Yay!¡± she clapped. ¡°I win.¡±

 Chapter 13: Recon

    Catherine looked angry, sitting with a book in a dark brown leather chair. Her crossed right leg swinging as she stared with a cold disappointment.

    ¡°Are you trying to get yourself killed?¡± she asked the brunette, slowly sipping a drink at her personal bar. ¡°You gave a cop, my card.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to get Damien killed, actually.¡± Gina said, sighing. ¡°He¡¯s stubborn and persistent. He¡¯s starting to make connections and I¡¯ve tried everything. He won¡¯t listen to me, his wife left him, he¡¯s assaulting people for confessions.¡±

    ¡°Then kill him. Don¡¯t bring him into MY group.¡± She scolded.

    ¡°I¡¯m a detective, not a killer. I can¡¯t kill another cop.¡± Gina sighed.

    ¡°You mean you can¡¯t kill another cop you¡¯ve been fucking for a year. Why didn¡¯t you just ask me nicely for a hit? I have people in the group just itching for a kill, and some of them would take out a cop for the fun of it.¡± Catherine growled.

    ¡°Because if you said no, then I would have to. I can¡¯t kill him myself. I don¡¯t have it in me. I¡¯m already regretting all of this, I hate what I¡¯ve become, I refuse to kill another officer, especially a man I¡¯ve gotten to know. I can¡¯t pull the trigger, I can''t make it look like an accident.¡±

    ¡°So you have a problem, and you decided to make it MY problem so you don¡¯t have to risk any skin in this? How thoughtful. He¡¯s dead either way. You just didn¡¯t wanna get your hands dirty, and you think I like this? I do occasionally, on MY terms. Not yours. I paid good money for a detective, so act like one. I didn''t pay you to risk my group to clean your messes. I could just kill you both, you know.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d lose your inside man.¡± Gina smirked. ¡°Well, inside woman. I¡¯m more valuable alive, he¡¯s more valuable dead, if I make a mess trying to cut my teeth murdering a man I¡¯ve fucked for a year, botching the evidence, then you could end up in hot water, if anything tied back to you. This way you can¡¯t deny the problem, and it gets taken care of without argument. Tampering with evidence is one thing, killing another officer is above my level of expertise. You think I know what I¡¯m doing? I¡¯ve killed 2 people in 10 years, both junkies firing at me on duty, and it was self-defense like I trained for. I can¡¯t cover a crime scene. If they suspect me, we all go down. Damien¡¯s been investigating serial killers, one of them taking him out only makes sense. Hell, send the Lakeshot guy, he¡¯s been hammering that case with obsession. Nobody will blink if he surfaces to silence him.¡±

    ¡°Lakeshot isn¡¯t one of my guys, Gina. He''s freelance. I¡¯ll take care of your problem for you, but you can¡¯t just act like you owe me and get away with it. You¡¯re gonna have to understand your place.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll make up for it.¡± Gina said, strutting to Catherine and slowly dropping the straps of her dress as Catherine stood up and approached her nose to nose.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t something you can fix with that kind of favor. You broke my trust, you¡¯re out.¡± Catherine coldly turned.

    ¡°What do you mean I¡¯m out?¡± she asked, looking worried.

    ¡°I mean, you¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t shoot you for that, and you¡¯ve done good work up until now on both of those kinds of favors, but this is about trust and knowing your boundaries. You¡¯re no longer part of this organization. If you talk, you disappear. If you leave town, you disappear. I¡¯m not kicking you out because I¡¯m angry, I¡¯m letting you leave because you provided me some amount of usefulness. Consider us even, and walk away while you can. The offer won¡¯t get better if you stay and try to negotiate. So leave.¡± Catherine said, sitting back down and opening her book. ¡°The door is that way.¡±

    ¡°Are you gonna kill me?¡± asked Gina.

    ¡°No¡­I should, but I promise I won¡¯t if you walk away now and never show your face near my group, my job, or my home again. No calls, no emails, you never even knew my name, understood?¡± Catherine asked.

    ¡°I guess so.¡± Said a very hurt looking Gina, taking her purse and leaving. She froze mid-step in the doorway, the color in her skin going grey as she grew smaller in the distance, ending up on a laptop screen with the pause bars over her face.

    ¡°Holy shit.¡± Tanner gasped as Mike smoked his cigarette.

    ¡°Yea. Our friend mister Baker is about to get cooked, and his partner next.¡±

    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± tanner asked.

    ¡°I bugged her house.¡± Mike yawned. ¡°One-night stand, one planted bug. God told me she was a problem, Now we understand what that means. Every time I got close to the Mayor, I always got side-tracked. I suspected she was working for him. I¡¯m actually glad you went to the group without me and didn¡¯t make it to the meeting. I may need you to go back.¡±

    ¡°What if Baker is there, and he spots me?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°He won¡¯t be back. They¡¯ll be on him pretty fast. If I know Catherine, lover or not, Detective Gina Garrett won''t live much longer than him. I¡¯m just not sure who she will send. She won¡¯t do it herself. She¡¯s retired. She¡¯ll send one of the group members. The problem is that I don¡¯t know who¡¯s left. This is a group of killers, but not all of them professional. They tend to have a high turnover. New members, old ones disappear or get arrested. God told me to take down Catherine.¡±

    ¡°And you want me to be your inside man.¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Just once. One meeting. If you were in the parking lot, she probably knows it, it would look more suspicious if you never came in. So you¡¯ll go back, nervously let me know who¡¯s there, see if you can make a friend or two, and then decide the group isn¡¯t for you. You¡¯ll get the speech, just act like you¡¯re not sure about it. You fly solo. You don¡¯t need any help. See if you can get the attention of some of the new members, we can flip. Just one time. After that, it becomes too dangerous.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not dangerous enough already?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I thought you liked danger?" Mike asked. ¡°Just kidding. I¡¯ll have eyes on the building and ears in your purse. If anything goes wrong, I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re the only one who walks out.

    ¡°You¡¯d do that for me?¡± she asked, looking at him with puppy-dog eyes.

    ¡°Tanner there¡¯s very little risk, you¡¯re an independent woman who can take care of herself, and everything will be fine. But, if absolutely necessary, I¡¯d bring the building down to get you out.¡± He said darkly. The kinda dark she loved in his eyes. The kind that made the dark little corner of her heart want to start something just to see him do it.

    Tanner sat nervously in the folding chair with no name on it. 12 seats around her filled, 3 empty.

    ¡°First time Jitters?¡± asked a voice to her left. She turned to the young man, practically wearing a t shirt that said ¡°serial killer¡± on his back. Slight chubby build, Curly red hair sprouting from a black hat and thick rimmed glasses, clean shaved say for the orange mustache, OD Green military jacket baggy enough to hide a gun, both sleeves rolled up. American flag tattoo on one forearm, punisher skull on the other. The picture of the absolute first suspect when a bomb goes off somewhere.

    ¡°Uh yea, first time.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Everyone here is like you. I¡¯m Carl. We all have different addictions, obviously, but that¡¯s my point. We all have some form of demon on our back, so we don¡¯t judge. Love your tattoos. What do they mean?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Tanner. Lotuses, on top of that, the Japanese symbols for love and hate.¡± She said, hiking her skirt just a touch to see them better on her thighs, just above the knees. ¡°Little duality, also I just like Asian pop culture.¡± She smiled. ¡°What about yours?¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    ¡°Flag is pretty basic. Country first, founding freedoms, American ideal. This skull is just because I liked the comics growing up.¡± He said chewing on some gum.

    ¡°Hope you don¡¯t mind me asking, what¡¯s your addiction?¡±

    ¡°Sex addict.¡± He nodded. Looking back at her. ¡°Just fucking with you. Cigarettes, hence the gum. That guy is the sex addict, I wish I was joking. He¡¯s been staring at you the whole time.¡± He said giving a shitty grin to the other young man across the center, black beanie, overly tight T-shirt to show off his arms and his tribal tattoo, a single strip of beard from lip to chin that ran around the sides to the sideburns.

    ¡°Haven''t¡­YOU been staring at me the whole time?¡± she said with an eyebrow.

    ¡°Me, nah. Would never do that. That¡¯s rude. I don''t stare. I¡¯ve just been glancing repeatedly. Not a lot of girls here, usually."

    ¡°So what¡¯s his problem, he just got out of prison and only allowed to go between the groups and the boy¡¯s den?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Shit, he¡¯s never been to prison. That¡¯s Tyler Hurte. You¡¯ll notice none of us have last names on our tags, that kind of defeats the anonymous part. He wears that name tag like he didn¡¯t make up that last name to sound cool.¡±

    ¡°He looks scary.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°Scary like a bitch.¡± He said, rubbing his eye with a middle finger discreetly at Tyler, as he sneered a sarcastic smirk with a silent ¡°fuck you¡± implied. ¡°He¡¯s mad that he sat down first, and you sat way across from him and then didn¡¯t move when I sat down.¡± He joked as a third young man, approached, buzz cut with a flattened short Mohawk, toothpick in his mouth, scraggly buzzed beard and well-dressed in all dark blue and black.

    ¡°Is this joker bothering you?¡± the new addition asked her discreetly.

    ¡°Fuck, I really am popular today. No, I¡¯m just fine. We¡¯re kinda talking. Thanks for the concern.¡± She smiled as he nodded and returned to his seat, looking strangely distant and moving his eyes to everyone in the group as if scanning the room. Carl sighed nervously.

    ¡°Now That guy is scary. Don¡¯t tell him I said that, I¡¯ll deny it. Goes by Deacon. He¡¯s got the kinda eyes that say he¡¯s seen some shit. Tyler¡¯s all show and nothing to back it. This guy would back it. Says about 6 words every other meeting, just watches everyone, takes notes, weird fucker. I¡¯m thinking ex special ops or something. The toothpick makes me think cigarette fix. You look more like an Adderall and Monster kinda girl."

    ¡°Oh I just kinda circle the whole addiction buffet and see what feels right. If I had a group for every single thing, I¡¯d just stay around for the next tone to start and live here.¡± She joked.

    ¡°I dunno, you seem cool. Seem like you got yourself handled and taken care of. So do you collect anything?¡± he asked as if prompting targeted questions for his response.

    ¡°Butterfly knives. I got like 5. All pretty cheap. You collect anything?¡± she asked, taking the obvious bait.

    ¡°Actually yea. I got a pretty extensive gun collection. You gotta fixate on something in life. Between work and a little online FPS gaming, I just kinda grow the gunroom. Big fan of history, I love the backstory of it, the military collectibles. Old guns, new guns, man I just love the story behind it. Got this guy at work that¡¯s just full of old war stories. Really cool guy. You like guns?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t hate them, I¡¯ve shot a few times, I think it was some kind of like, basic revolver. I dunno. It was kinda fun though.¡± she bluffed.

    ¡°I gotta take you out shooting some time. Not like a date, it¡¯s just a shame you haven¡¯t had more diverse fun at the range.¡±

    ¡°Yea, pretty limited.¡± she smiled.

    ¡°You know what gets the worst reputation? The VZ68 Skorpion. See, everyone thinks they only come in 32 caliber so they have no kill power. Not true. The 68 is a 9mm Makarov, just enough power to do the job, but quiet. They¡¯re super fun little guns, flip out stock no recoil, easy to suppress. You¡¯d love one. Such bullshit we can¡¯t carry in here. I mean, what is the point of a free country when you voluntarily to go to an addiction group, and they always make it in a church where you can¡¯t carry. I mean, this country was founded on the Second Amendment and the church, and you can¡¯t carry in a meeting. Burns my ass, shit like that makes me want a smoke. See how good that works?¡± he chuckled.

    ¡°Seems like a safe enough place. I mean, it¡¯s public.¡± She shrugged.

    ¡°Yea, until you leave the parking lot. Some asshole stabs you for your wallet. Bet your ass when I leave the building and get in my car, I¡¯m armed. No such thing as too safe.¡± he said, chewing his gum faster and carefully mean-mugging Deacon.

    ¡°You¡¯re not one of those guys that goes to Walmart with an Ar15 on your back, are you?¡± she playfully poked.

    ¡°Not a chance. Too hard to conceal and deploy. I don''t want to display my hand. That¡¯s a truck gun or a home defense gun. You carry something open, you¡¯re making yourself a target. Beretta M9, best personal carry money can buy, aside from the Skorpion of course.¡±

    ¡°So what exactly is with this group? Seems like just a bunch of people talking about whether or not they slipped off the wagon or not, drinking coffee and clustering to mutter alone.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll see once it starts. It¡¯s actually about you and Catherine. Most of us don¡¯t even get along or talk, There¡¯s some chummy pairing and groups that hang out, but mostly it¡¯s just an excuse for Catherine to keep you up to date on the program. You know, addiction isn¡¯t about quitting alone and being done with your demons. That demon is permanent, and all of us here have it. It takes different forms, but if you let it control you, it takes over and ruins your life, lands you dead or in prison. It¡¯s about taming it and finding an outlet. Spreading out the urge and finding a healthy addiction to obsess over. It¡¯s about not getting in trouble, not fuckin up. Meet me outside after the meeting in the parking lot, I¡¯ll tell you the real meaning.¡± He said grabbing another piece of gum and adding it to the old piece.

    He opened the tailgate and there was a rather large gun case anchored down.

    ¡°You know, most girls would get weirded out if you invited them to your truck to show them the meaning of addiction, and you just displayed a gun case. You might wanna lean to be more subtle.¡±

    ¡°Nah, fuck subtle. Is what it is. If you don¡¯t like it, there¡¯s the road. I¡¯m doing this for your protection because we got our back turned to Deacon and I want him to see I¡¯m not fucking around. You know there aren¡¯t very many female serial killers¡­¡± he said, getting her attention and making her nervously reach for her knife.

    ¡°Interesting fact. Where is that going?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Oh come on. You know this isn¡¯t an AA meeting it¡¯s a place where dark addictions get tempered, and you¡¯re playing innocent, but I read you. You¡¯re the¡­we¡¯re not supposed to talk about it but, come on. You¡¯re the killer samurai girl.¡±

    ¡°Ugh, NO.¡± she objected.

    ¡°Everyone here is a killer, you¡¯re here and scanning everyone like a damn computer because you¡¯re trying to guess what they did and if you know them. So you¡¯re not lost. The guns didn¡¯t scare you, Deacon can smell a killer, and he¡¯s on your scent. How many female serial killers, let alone under 25, let alone good-looking are in this state? Asian thigh tats, don¡¯t know guns, but you know knives. I¡¯ve figured out almost everyone in the group. When the autism isn¡¯t fixated on guns, it¡¯s fixated on studying the other players. Honestly¡­big fan of your work. Solo gal, maybe 18, what¡¯s that like 5 kills? Brutal shit too.¡± he smiled.

    ¡°Okay, firstly Geisha, not samurai. Huge difference. Secondly, you don¡¯t know anything about me." she scolded with an attitude.

    ¡°Everyone in the group knows who you are. We follow the police reports and the news. You walk into a bar and everyone noticed you because you¡¯re cute and acting like you know it. You walk into the killer¡¯s church with no fear, everyone assumes you¡¯re the one female serial killer on the board and active. Sorry, you¡¯re kind of a unicorn.¡±

    ¡°That¡­is kind of the best compliment I¡¯ve heard all day and if I was not already sorta with a guy, that¡¯s a good start to a pickup line.¡±

    ¡°When you plan to kill him?¡± he asked, grabbing another stick of gum.

    ¡°I¡¯m not, it¡¯s legit, and I like him, and it¡¯s getting kinda serious.¡± she eyebrowed.

    ¡°So he¡¯s a killer too?¡± he smirked. ¡°Oh come on, either he¡¯s a target or another killer. You wouldn¡¯t get serious with some random asshole with a secret like yours unless you think he might understand or you, or he¡¯s prey. Ex special ops dude, big 250 pound Marine sniper, can¡¯t wait to get back overseas?¡± he guessed.

    ¡°Actually, that¡¯s none of your business.¡±

    ¡°Which way do I wave? I don''t wanna look stupid. He¡¯s probably about 800-900 yards out, with a 338 Lapua, scope on my back, I don¡¯t wanna look stupid, which way do I wave at him?¡±

    ¡°Okay fine, you¡¯re basically dead on, and if I told you where to look he wouldn¡¯t be hidden, so nice try.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just playing around. Look, if you wanna hang out, bring the boyfriend, I don¡¯t care. But if you got a man already, and this is recon, some of the others might get annoyed, some you could handle, some could be a problem. Never hurts to have friends. I¡¯m just bored and sick of shooting alone. Call number is 616 7723, and that will change next meeting if you want the new one. Tell the boyfriend he¡¯s invited, free ammo and beer.¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t drink.¡± She smiled, making her leave and strutting through the parking lot, noticing Deacon in the darkness staring like a laser beam at them.

    ¡°Fantastic, love to hear that! Offer it anyway, just to be nice...more beer for me. Still comes off as a good gesture and saves me money. Hey, call me. Gotta workout that trigger finger. Always a fun day at the range. Yea I fuckin see you Tyler. Blow me.¡± He said, shifting his tone and direction of conversation.

    Tanner got her phone out and pretended to dial despite it already running.

    ¡°You get that, Mikey?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Every bit of it. Good work, van is a block down and left on a dirt road. Meet you there.¡±

    ¡°Meet me? You¡¯re not in the van right now? Where are you now?¡±

    ¡°About¡­300 yards from the building, and up.¡± He said, disconnecting.

    Tanner stepped into the kitchen, carefully making her way to the front door as the bedroom and reloading room rested shut. Sleeping or making bullets, he was done for the night, and she was just getting started. She grabbed her backpack and the truck keys and checked her GPS for the address.

    ¡°Sorry Mike.¡± She whispered, feeling guilty but out of her own control. But a girl¡¯s gotta get satisfaction one way or another.¡± She added, dialing her phone. ¡°Yea, it¡¯s me. Date is still on, just a little late. I know, I¡¯m super excited to meet you too after all week DMing. I know a place your wife won¡¯t ever find. Hell a damn private detective would never find this place, it¡¯s VERY discreet. Yea, bring condoms and vodka, that¡¯s fine. GOD, I needed this so bad. I¡¯ll see you there, here¡¯s the address. Don¡¯t tell anyone where it¡¯s at, we don¡¯t want anyone knowing you¡¯re out. What the wife doesn¡¯t know won¡¯t hurt her.¡± She grinned as she hopped in Mike¡¯s old truck and started it up, heading to the dentist¡¯s office.

 Chapter 14: a Killer Insurance Plan

    Hello Tommy. You comfortable? Tanner whispered, the light turning on.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m strapped to a chair, what is this?¡± he barked.

    ¡°This is an experiment, and most likely a¡­murder, but we¡¯ll get to that."

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna kill me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Not necessarily, stop jumping ahead I¡¯m trying to explain this, silly.¡± She said giving him a bop on the nose to shut him up.

    ¡°You work for a medical insurance company, and you¡¯re the guy who decided whether or not they cover something as necessary or not. Right?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°See we¡¯re being honest, that¡¯s part of the road to being alive an hour from now. Keep up the good work. Now I have a list of things you¡¯ve personally rejected and signed for. This looked interesting, so I did some googling on the procedure. Lung biopsy for cancer. OOf. That¡¯s rough. Bad enough to think you got cancer, but the test is brutal. Says here for a lung biopsy, most places don¡¯t use anesthetic. Now I watched the video and the comment section was interesting, see this right here from anonymous commenter. Most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. Another one said she had it done once, and it was so excruciating she refused to get another biopsy, despite them needing to looking for more cancer. That sounds like anesthetic would be pretty necessary, but it¡¯s 1500 dollars for them to put someone out for it, so you rejected it, multiple times on every request. Now I¡¯m not a doctor, but I do have a lot of experience with anatomy and surgical procedures, I even have the gloves and shit. And this¡­¡± she said holding up a strange blue plastic tube. ¡°This is a biopsy endoscope. Now no, I don¡¯t have the screen for it. The scanny x-ray stuff is kinda expensive, but this little toy was pretty cheap and this doesn¡¯t need to be precise, it¡¯s a proof of point, not a highly targeted procedure.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna do a medical procedure on me? Are you a nurse?¡± he asked.

    ¡°LOL, no silly. I¡¯m a serial killer... Hence the scary outfit and abduction. I graduated from the college of hookery and stabbing people, dropped out of high school. But I youtubed the whole thing and again, we don¡¯t really need to be accurate, we¡¯re just guesstimating. Now don¡¯t worry because this shouldn¡¯t be very painful, we¡¯re just jamming this into your lung and taking a small chunk out. I mean, if it was too painful, they¡¯d probably put you out for it. Right? You¡¯ve signed a fat NO for that, 27 times, according to my sources. So clearly the doctors and patients are just exaggerating and being big babies about it, right? Well let¡¯s find out together, because SOMEONE is clearly full of shit here, and it can¡¯t be you. But if it is you, we¡¯re gonna learn things together today. I got some oxycodone if you want one, that might help.¡±

    ¡°Yea, I¡¯ll take it.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing¡­ You got 2 grand in cash? I charge 2 grand for oxy. Inflation is really fucking us all right now. I can check your wallet.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have it on me in cash! I can use a card. Whatever you want.¡±

    ¡°Honey, I¡¯m not an ATM, I¡¯m an ex hooker that kills people and I sell drugs to survive. Very different slots. You think drug dealers, hookers, OR serial killers take credit cards? That¡¯s a cash only no receipt kinda situation. You really don¡¯t have cash? Well that sucks, more for me. Saves you money, you know how that is. Nothing personal, just good business practice. But again, people do this all the time, it can¡¯t be that bad, or you¡¯d be covering it. That¡¯s literally what insurance is supposed to do. Surely you¡¯re not subjecting innocent people to literal torture purely to make more money, when¡­I¡¯ve seen your house, you have plenty. So¡­here¡¯s the fun part. This is a harmonica, I¡¯m gonna tape it into your mouth in case you make a sound, which should be easy to resist if this isn¡¯t very painful. You get one freebie, and it doesn¡¯t even count until we make the first cut. Now I could be a real bitch and take 27 biopsies, but who has time for that? I think like¡­4 should be plenty. Of course if you make any sound during this procedure that clearly doesn¡¯t need anesthesia, I must be doing this wrong, and I gotta start over. Let¡¯s give you 3 strikes before failing the whole thing. Think of it like a tiktok challenge except if you lose, I kill you. And if you win not only do you get to live, but you get a sucker! I got 3 flavors, they¡¯re really good.¡± She giggled.

    Mike followed the sound of elevator music to the kill room and used his key, the sound of a violent scream and a harmonica chord greeting him before he turned and entered.

    ¡°See, that¡¯s 2 tries and 2 strikes. Either you¡¯re a real pussy or this procedure is actually really painful. You see the problem here?¡± she sighed, adjusting her medical mask over her geisha makeup, smearing it slightly as she grabbed the tools again.

    ¡°Catch you at a bad time?¡± Mike asked as she jumped, almost fumbling the endoscope.

    ¡°Holy shit, Mike. Dont scare healthcare workers like that. I could have killed this guy. Knocking would be good. You can¡¯t walk in on a surgical procedure without scrubs, either. Did you even scrub up?¡±

    ¡°Did you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Okay not really, but I did a quicky alcohol wipedown." she shrugged.

    ¡°What is this shit? I¡¯ve been wondering where you were running off to all the time, and you have this random guy in a chair and a sexy nurse outfit.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not what you think, Mike. It¡¯s not a sexy nurse outfit, it¡¯s just a nurse outfit, I just happen to be sexy in it¡­you¡¯re welcome, and also, HA! You admitted it.¡±

    ¡°I thought we were a team. You¡¯re just killing people without me?¡±

    ¡°We ARE a team. What? I can¡¯t go out and some fun by myself without you now? Let¡¯s see, um, you¡¯re not my dad, and I didn¡¯t listen to him anyway, you¡¯re not my owner because I¡¯m a human being, we¡¯re not a married couple or even a couple. So why exactly do I have to answer to you?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Because I kept you out of prison¡­multiple times¡­for the job.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Exactly, the JOB. You¡¯re my boss because shit happened, and I had no choice, and I reluctantly accepted it. I¡¯m grateful, but I don¡¯t just become your property, I¡¯m an adult woman with needs and I wanted a night out.¡± She said, as the man in his underwear struggled to break from the chair he was strapped to.

    ¡°This IS the job. You go to prison for making mistakes ON THE JOB. If you wanted to go out and party and dance with your gal pals, or see a movie, I agree. That¡¯s your life to live. I don¡¯t own you. Go do it. It¡¯s not my business. Be safe, have fun. This literally IS my business, and I¡¯m the guy who you work for, who clean your messes.¡± Mike reminded. "That I cant clean if it¡¯s a secret."

    ¡°No, mike, this is recreation. Most people clock into work and then go home. They don¡¯t go home with their boss and sleep on his couch, and have breakfast with him, and then go to work, and then after work, go home with him and plan more work. I need some ME time, alone with my interests¡­which just happen to be killing horrible people. You did this because God told you to, this is YOUR job, but this is my ART. I love this shit. This makes me happy.¡±

    ¡°Sex and torture makes you happy?¡± he asked with a disappointed sigh.

    ¡°Technically yes, except both¡­different activities, but this isn¡¯t sex, this is just torture. Not like I get the sex part from you, either. I''m not REAL PEOPLE. He¡¯s the guy who denies peoples medical insurance. That almost doesn¡¯t count as human. It¡¯s MY case, It¡¯s not on our list, you didn¡¯t plan this, this is just me doing my thing like I would be doing without you anyway, before we met.¡±

    ¡°And who¡¯s cleaning the mess, the crime scene¡­you? Badly? Am I going to have to trace your steps so you don¡¯t get caught?¡± he sighed.

    ¡°No, because I¡¯m getting better at this. I gotta grow on my own, Mike. I can¡¯t have you hold my hand forever. What we have is fine, but Mike you¡¯re not that adventurous and fun with it. It¡¯s 2 quick, pew-pews to the head and back to the car, destroy the evidence. You¡¯re the hitman equivalent of a guy who blows his load in 2 minutes. And you know what, that¡¯s fine for you, it¡¯s effective for the mission, but it¡¯s not¡­as fun. You do your thing. I need excitement and satisfaction and if your way doesn¡¯t get it, I gotta do this myself. I have the tools and the skills, Mike.¡± She said holding up the scalpel.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t couple''s therapy. This isn¡¯t the equivalent of disappointing sex, your metaphor loses meaning when you account for the fact that bad sex leads to breakups and sloppy kills lead to the death penalty. My boring kills are why I have almost 80 and nobody even knows most of them are related. This is illegal, we get lethal injection for this. Without me around, you risk your life.¡±

    ¡°So then why did God pick me? For you to tutor and rule over? ¡­or to learn from each other? Being partners is a 2 way street, oh for the love of fuck, asshole stop squirming in that chair. We¡¯re having a conversation, it¡¯s very rude, you¡¯re not even bleeding much. UGH, anyway, maybe God wanted YOU to learn to enjoy your work more, as much as me learning to kill smarter and more carefully. You¡¯re bottling up all that emotion for a little quicky gunshot, you¡¯re not happy. Maybe I¡¯m supposed to help you loosen up, and you¡¯re supposed to help me plan better. Look, I got cameras, I got alarms set up, I got sedatives, I put a small explosive device under his penis that will go off if he leaves the chair¡­¡± she said as the man suddenly stopped struggling.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Mike asked quietly, she huddled him closer and got quiet too.

    ¡°No, but he will not stop making noise, and he doesn¡¯t know what I did while he was unconscious, just go with it.¡± she whispered. ¡°Anyway, the point being that I¡¯ve grown a lot, thanks to you, but I can¡¯t be your little protected puppy, I gotta run free in the yard sometimes.¡±

    ¡°I just don¡¯t want to lose you. I care about you and this mission.¡± he said hesitantly.

    ¡°Aww, because I¡¯m hot?¡±

    ¡°No because you remind me of my late wife.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­fuck. Well, I would have preferred the other thing, but that¡¯s sweet too.¡± she smiled.

    ¡°You¡¯re right. I do overprotect you, but look how bad you were when I found you. Can you blame me for caring too much? I need you for this job and the job is my life, and you¡¯re a friend, I care about your wellbeing too. I¡¯ve grown very fond of you, and I can¡¯t see you on death row because you made a mistake. How about this: We plan some kills together, I help you cover the gaps and when you wanna be alone and do your own thing, just let me know, I¡¯ll let you borrow the gear. If I have to trust that you won¡¯t be stupid and get caught, you have to trust me enough to let me know that you need things. I could have made this easier¡­can I please shoot him, he really is just the loudest bastard I''ve ever heard.¡±

    ¡°Yea, shoot him. He¡¯s annoying me anyway. He stinks and the mood is gone, he won¡¯t listen to my poetic riddles and rituals, so I¡¯m doing this for nothing. I put on a nurse outfit and designed a whole shocking thing that kills him when I pull the plug just for the medical metaphor, and I don¡¯t even wanna torture anymore. Can we go home, order some food and just¡­hang out?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely.¡± He smiled, reaching out without looking and casually putting 3 rounds into the man in the chair. ¡°I guess compromises are part of every relationship.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­not EVERY relationship. Some are based on full submissio-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not being your bondage fuck buddy.¡± he interrupted.

    ¡°Okay, well then yes, there needs to be compromises. So we can just do some fun kills, together, as a team, but with MY targets and my¡­dare I say: brilliantly set up kill rooms?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Sure. If it makes you happy and keeps you safe, we can do your thing sometimes. But don¡¯t be too late, and call me when you¡¯re done so I can double-check your evidence disposal and clean up the details. You need to rest a little. We have a big day tomorrow recruiting the new help and this place needs to be presentable.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re inviting him here?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t want him knowing my home address just yet. This place is disposable for a reason, and if anything goes wrong and we think he¡¯s a threat¡­we¡¯re already in the kill room.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good point. I¡¯ll get the mop, you can bag the body. Sorry. I got carried away.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I enjoy spending time with you. We just have to manage our time better, and you have to be more open. You should have just told me you needed to kill a few people alone.¡± Mike said, grabbing the bone saw and some gloves.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d understand or approve. I¡¯m not selflessly exterminating evil for God the efficient way, I¡¯m a very disturbed girl enjoying my pastime. I did pray first, if that helps. I¡¯m sober. I really feel like this was necessary.¡±

    ¡°No, I get it. These people deserve to die. I don¡¯t LOVE the fact that you do things by feel, but I recruited a vengeance slasher when I got you, I should have expected it. I¡¯m not trying to fix you, or change you, you¡¯re quite the fascination just as you are, I¡¯m just trying to help you. I accept you, and your disturbing hobbies.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°Is that your way of saying I love you, Tanner?¡± she grinned with a cartoonish cheesy smile, still covered in bloody white face paint.

    ¡°I guess as much as I think I can love anyone anymore. You have your problems, I have mine. I still¡­feel like part of me died with Gwen. Maybe I can¡¯t understand why you have any feelings for half a person. Why you¡¯d want anything to do with an old man capable of half-loving anything.¡± he huffed.

    ¡°Well I think you¡¯re cool. I think you¡¯re brilliant and talented, and I¡¯m still fan-girling out over some of your kills, your methods. And you¡¯re nice to me. Nobody¡¯s nice to me. Broken girl who went from selling ass to slitting throats, and for some reason it felt like a job promotion. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m like this. I¡¯m just glad you decided to keep me.¡± She smirked as he sighed and ruffled her hair, Tanner stepping into the hug and feeling safe as he hugged her back.

    ¡°Yea, I¡¯ll keep you. It¡¯s gonna be my birthday this month, and I never get any gifts. I guess it was just saving up for you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s adorable.¡± She whispered. "I also didn''t get you anything because I didn''t know."

    ¡°Turning 51.¡±

    ¡°Ha ha, you¡¯re an OLD! Sorry. I¡¯m kind of a bitch sometimes. I¡¯m working on that, but it¡¯s a long road, and we need to set realistic expectations on the results. Anyway, let''s hack up this fat fuck and go home.¡±

 Chapter 15: The Interview

    Mike paced the room, looking unsure.

    ¡°Hey.¡± Said tanner. ¡°You¡¯re the one who sent him the message. He¡¯s here, he¡¯s waiting in the waiting room of an abandoned dentist''s office. You might wanna say something before he assumes we''re just gonna kill him.¡±

    ¡°I want him to wait and look around. I want him to know this is a kill site and that he¡¯s on our turf.¡±

    ¡°Why did you call him and tell him you were recruiting if you didn¡¯t trust him?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Because you¡¯d be amazed how few people at the meeting didn¡¯t glow in the scope. It¡¯s gotten worse. Options are limited and something is brewing. I¡¯ve had visions/dreams, nothing that makes sense, but enough to make me start planning options. We need allies.¡± He said, taking a breath and entering the room with confidence. Carl grinned.

    ¡°Oh man am I psyched, I get to work with the dude who did the Lakeshot kill? Fucking A man. This is gonna be a great interview. I don¡¯t know how many guys you plan to talk to, but I¡¯m the guy, I feel it. I got what it takes.¡±

    ¡°So¡­who do you kill and why? What got you started?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Well the WHY is pretty easy, I think we all get the same rush here. Uh, it¡¯s fun. It''s addictive, hence the Addicts Anonymous. I have always collected guns and been an avid shooter, got into hunting, and did basic training for the army, failed the uh, mental health part and got removed before active duty, real bummer. I was pumped. I dunno, you just shoot targets, you pop some condiment bottles and some small game, the deer hunting isn¡¯t enough, and I really just wanted to hunt the ultimate game, humans. Had a guy break into my trailer and MAN, the jolt you get taking a fucker out is incredible. But then there¡¯s the moral problem with ending someone¡¯s life too soon and there¡¯s not exactly a lot of assholes breaking into my trailer that I can just light up with hollowpoints, and feel no guilt about, so the army thing was a crushing fail, needed another plan. Needed that rush. And then it hit me¡­old people. They lived their life, they¡¯re sick and dying, so it¡¯s not like I¡¯m shortening things that much and nothing great, fucking adult diapers and ensure shakes. I wish someone would take me out when I get there, that¡¯s a favor, a mercy kill.¡±

    ¡°So you assist the elderly with suicide?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°So they don¡¯t... volunteer. How would you advertise that? I just got a job at an old folk''s home as an assistant, and you can tell which ones are just over it. It¡¯s kinda win win. Technically it¡¯s still illegal, so I¡¯ve¡­¡± he said rolling his eyes and doing dramatic air quotes ¡°Murdered 13 people. Whatever. Give me a break. The first 2 families go on a rampage like oh, someone shot my grandma, what a monster, and it¡¯s like fuck you Bethany, or whatever your name is. You¡¯ve visited one time in 2 years to milk them for inheritance, don¡¯t act like you give a shit, they¡¯re miserable, you¡¯re bangin your boyfriend and watching sitcoms, never think twice about the old gummer. I see em every day, and they just sit and act sad all day, I¡¯m there bringing food they won¡¯t eat, watching them stare coldly at the news with the volume up full blast so they can barely hear it. I¡¯m doing more than the families in most cases. Yea, some of them seem happy and they got families. I don¡¯t kill them. And you can¡¯t exactly sit them down and be like ¡°Hey Edith, I know you can¡¯t hear me and barely remember my name, It¡¯s Carl. So I was wondering if you¡¯d sign a consent form so I can kill you. But I fucking love doing it, you¡¯ll be done with this shit, everyone wins, here¡¯s a legal form. You just know, ya know? It¡¯s in their eyes. I¡¯ve done injections, I¡¯ve done fake robbery¡­I did steal some shit but you have to, or it looks like a murder, so you gotta steal shit for that scenario. Feels gross, I know, but you just roll with it. Donate the stuff to a charity to feel better. I ended up settling on the lethal injections because it seems too risky to use a gun, given my collection and my job proximity. First 2 kills had cops EVERYWHERE. Lethal injections raise zero red flags, these people have nobody, nobody cares. It''s just sad. Never the same rush as the first kill though. That headshot with a silencer, true art. Needle just isn¡¯t the same. It''s just cleaner and safer. I¡¯d be absolutely Jacked to get to do some real heavy wetwork with a gun again.¡±

    ¡°Give me one second.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°Yea, awesome talk, Mike. I¡¯ll be here.¡± Carl said as they moved to the other room, matching him through the glass.

    ¡°Mike, this guy is unhinged as shit.¡± Tanner sighed.

    ¡°I know. I¡¯ve actually considered killing him before.¡± Mike yawned.

    ¡°He¡¯s not really doing it for the old folks, he¡¯s doing it for the fun of it, some of them probably don¡¯t wanna die.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°And I¡¯ve seen crime scene reports of his kills, didn¡¯t know they were him until now. A few were botched, anything but quick and painless. BUT we have very few friends. He has guns, he likes us, he trusts us, and we can pin the evidence on him and use that to clear ourselves if things go wrong and he tries shit. I don¡¯t like it either, but things happen. God works in mysterious ways.¡± Mike rationalized. ¡°If he glows in the thermals, we kill him. Simple.¡±

    ¡°Okay good because he gives me the creeps. You ever just talk to someone and KNOW they probably do sex stuff with the dead people¡¯s feet? That kinda vibe?¡± she whispered as Carl leaned back and waved from the other room.

    ¡°Yea, I can sort of see that. He¡¯s not right in the head, but he¡¯s right for the job. We can¡¯t trust anyone else. He¡¯s nuts, war fanatic, weird beliefs, probably a fetish killer, but he knows his guns, and he has the kills and tools.¡± Mike said, going back into the room and sitting down, offering a coffee, as Carl denied. ¡°Carl we may have better offers wanting the apprentice job. We give everyone the chance to answer the same questions¡­why are YOU better than the others in the group. Why are THEY less suited for the job.¡± He asked, trying to trick information out of him. This way we can cross-check dirt on people and see who¡¯s lying and who''s bragging legitimately." Mike bluffed.

    ¡°Look, I know I¡¯m young and not as experienced as some, but 13 kills in 3 years without getting caught, while stockpiling guns and ammo is bold. I make due with what I got, I¡¯m dedicated, I¡¯m flexible. I''m one hell of a long ranged shooter AND close range. Farmer John hasn¡¯t killed in years, he¡¯s long-guns only. That¡¯s no good, we got you on the team already. Pizza boy? He¡¯s a wannabe. 4 hikers with a point blank 9mm? Anyone could do that. Ashley is a pro, but that¡¯s a problem. Russian military or KGB or some shit. He makes his own rules, doesn¡¯t even follow the group rules. He¡¯s carried during a meeting before. Catherine would have his head for that. Unpredictable, solo killer, psychopath. I know everyone, but I know basically dick about this guy. That¡¯s a problem. You don¡¯t want a wild card you can¡¯t trust.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°What about the Walter White looking guy?¡±  Asked Tanner.

    ¡°Harry Layton. Mob enforcer, carries a damn revolver. He¡¯s good, but he¡¯s cocky and a 1-trick pony. He¡¯s more reputation and intimidation than threat. He¡¯s a finisher for the Mayor or something." he said as Mike and Tanner locked eyes and raised eyebrows "Whatever that means, right. What mayor and what is he finishing? Sounds like he has 2 bosses already. Overheard that between him and Catherine. Old Portland is pushing 90, he¡¯s just hoping to die in a cool way. I actually thought about killing him but the rules¡­you don¡¯t kill group members." Carl eye-rolled.

    ¡°What bout fat Fred Durst?¡± Tanner asked. ¡°You two seem to have history. Why do you hate FatDurst so much?"

    ¡°Tyler Hurte, he¡¯s a joke. He killed one guy in a spray and pray drive-by, and now he thinks he¡¯s Al Capone or some rapper. You want subwoofers and Homie Hi-point rolling around in gold rims doing work for you? Fuck that. You could hire some street rando with more serious potential.¡±

    ¡°Captain Ken Doll looked pretty serious.¡± Tanner muttered to Mike.

    ¡°Yea he is, but you already got a cutter¡­you. Honestly, you could do his job. Blondie is more torture specialist than hitman, if you want information out of someone or to make them suffer, recruit Blondie. He¡¯ll do anything for money, but that means no loyalty. He''s good with a torture room, but as far as guns, gear, and versatility. I¡¯m still in the lead. I could shoot circles around that guy.¡±

    ¡°Can you shoot circles around Deacon?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You want the truth? No. Nobody can. If you want the best killer in the group, it¡¯s Deacon. Ex special ops. Versatile, better shot than me, don¡¯t even suggest I take him on hand to hand, just shoot me. He¡¯s a machine. The problem is that he¡¯s also Catherine¡¯s personal bitch, and I¡¯m here because I¡¯m tired of her acting like queen bee and telling us we can¡¯t operate our own shit. It¡¯s pretty clear you guys don¡¯t answer to her, but Deacon does. So you want the best guy for the position, he¡¯s taken already and loyal to her. You want the second-best guy who won''t go wild card and get you killed being stupid and rogue? I¡¯m here. I¡¯m fed up with Catherine, the group is bullshit, let¡¯s go do some damage.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Or I¡¯m just leaving the group anyway, moving somewhere and starting over. There¡¯s gotta be some merchant group out there where I can get some action. If you¡¯re about to start a war, I¡¯m in, and I wanna be on this side of the line. Otherwise, I¡¯m alone and good as dead in the middle. I sure as hell am not siding with Cathy, and I¡¯m not gonna last long as a one-man army.¡±

    They stepped outside the room to deliberate again. Mike looking conflicted.

    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind, mister Holyman?¡± whispered Tanner.

    ¡°He knows more of them than I do. He probably knows more about us than we think. But he¡¯s a thrill seeker.¡±

    ¡°So Am I. Mike, it took me a while to believe in your divine plan theory, and I was just cute potential until you gave me a chance. Do we have better options? Be honest with me, who else DIDN¡¯T glow in the thermals scope?¡± she asked as he sighed sadly.

    ¡°90 year old Portland and Tyler Durst. That¡¯s it. Everyone else except Carl lit up like a road flair. The group has always been corrupt, but it¡¯s always been more human than nightlights. I think Catherine has been corrupting or killing the ones with a moral code. She¡¯s either forming an army or eliminating the possibility of a rival faction. And we have Detective Gina Garrett on her payroll. So at least some of the cops work for her. No telling how many.¡±

    ¡°Shit. Did Detective Baker glow in your scope?¡± She asked, fingers crossed.

    ¡°If he did, I would have taken him out by now. I have a rule I follow by faith. If Detective Baker wants to get himself killed, that¡¯s not my problem but I wont kill him if he isn¡¯t evil unless he forces my hand. It may not be too late for him to get out, let go. He¡¯s not evil, he¡¯s a cop doing his job, which is rare these days. Unfortunately, he¡¯s decided to clean his act up and hunt me. he''s obsessive and persistent. If he goes after you or gets in the crossfire, I¡¯ll have to take him out, but I won¡¯t actively hunt a man doing his duty, just because we have different career choices that conflict. If God wants him eliminated, there are plenty of killers out there in the busy street where he¡¯s playing.¡±

    ¡°So Carl is our only ally? A stereotypical white male serial-killer-looking serial killer, who mostly kills elderly people with lethal injections and has enough guns to draw more attention than his Unibomber look? That¡¯s our best guy?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Either that or a drive-by gang shooter who probably doesn¡¯t know the sights are on the top of the gun rather than the side. You wanna go out for a recruitment date with Tyler and see if there¡¯s more to him than we think?¡±

    ¡°Not really. But I wanna go back to the meeting once more.¡± She said firmly.

    ¡°Too dangerous.¡± Mike said shaking his head.

    ¡°There¡¯s gotta be other options. Maybe Carl doesn¡¯t know as much as he thinks he does. Maybe Deacon isn¡¯t as loyal to Catherine, and we can use him temporarily, Maybe he can be bought, and we can turn on him after. Maybe Tyler has a gang of friends, maybe having a whole gang on our side is worth dealing with one dumbass for a while. Who has more guns¡­one gun nut or a whole gang?¡±

    ¡°Probably the one gun nut. Gangs don¡¯t buy legally, that¡¯s why gun laws limiting sales don''t work. They get a lot of second-hand filed-down garbage to distribute out to a lot of thugs that don¡¯t follow orders. Carl has no criminal record, and he makes good money, I bet most of that goes into the collection.¡±

    ¡°Just let me go back to the group and talk to some people. I feel like God was leading me there for something, and it doesn¡¯t feel finished. I felt it. There¡¯s someone else there we need, I just don¡¯t know who. And if they glow in the dark, so what? We hire a sinner to take down the devil herself, and then you can deal with him alone like you do best. Have faith in me. Trust me, there¡¯s someone else of interest.¡± She insisted.

    ¡°I hope you¡¯re right. We¡¯ll take Carl in the meantime, next meeting, you can follow your heart and the voice, but be careful. Not every voice is the right one. You gotta be clear-headed and listening for the right one.¡±

    ¡°Mike I¡¯m sober, no drugs, no booze.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°Sometimes it takes a while to hear him, even once you stopped. Just be careful.¡± He said, returning to the other room. ¡°Carl, good news. You got the job. We weighed our options, and you are by far the clear choice. Welcome to the opposition.¡± Mike said, offering a hand.

    ¡°Nice. I¡¯m stoked to hear it, I really did not wanna move out of state again. The red-tape on the stash is a nightmare. Hey, you guys wanna check out the range? I got a wicked setup in the hills I think you¡¯ll love. If you weren¡¯t sure about this, you will be. This is gonna be great.¡± He smiled, sticking out a hand to shake and getting it from Mike. ¡°Also, are you two a thing, or¡­¡±

    ¡°Kinda. It¡¯s complicated.¡± Muttered Tanner.

    ¡°It¡¯s less complicated, and more that the details aren¡¯t anyone¡¯s business.¡± Mike added.

    ¡°Just checking, I don¡¯t wanna step on the bosses toes the first day, ya know. Loud and clear message, chief.¡± He nodded. ¡°But I do have one request. If I¡¯m sharing the collection, I want to know what the Lakeshot Shooter has hidden behind the fake wall. I know you got one. Mile and a half headshot. That¡¯s insane. I have my theories, don¡¯t spoil it yet. I wanna see the big reveal.¡±

    ¡°Sure. Just don¡¯t get disappointed if the setup is a bit simpler than you hoped for.¡±

    ¡°Oh man, this is exciting, I¡¯ll bring a few 6 packs of beers and a bunch of steaks.¡±

    ¡°Neither of us drink.¡± Mike calmly said.

    ¡°One 6-pack and a bunch of steaks. Got it.¡± he nodded.

 Chapter 16: Old Portland

    The truck rolled up to a remote wooded area, bits of trash randomly dotting the dirt road up the hill to a series of 3 rather old trailers. Two angled towards each other, nearly touching at the end and connected from door to door by a tin roofed wooden deck.

    ¡°Are we in the right place?¡± Asked Mike.

    ¡°I dunno, I don¡¯t wanna judge, but this looks kinda shi-oh, no there¡¯s Carl. It¡¯s the right place.¡± She sighed. They stepped out and were greeted by a beanie wearing redneck in khaki shorts and an American flag shirt, holding a beer and strapped with 2 rather large handguns.

    ¡°Hey, come on in. Grab a beverage, we got snacks on the table, careful not to grab the syringe. It¡¯s not what you think, it¡¯s for killing people. Animal tranquilizers. You give someone a shot of this, and they¡¯re out cold. Mix it with this shit, prescription beta blockers, they stop breathing in their sleep. Cops can find it in a tox screen if they know what to look for, but they don¡¯t do a full autopsy for every old far that dies at home in their sleep, especially if there are no signs of break-in or theft.¡±

    ¡°So it looks like you¡­got a fairly simple setup here.¡± Tanner said, trying to sound polite.

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t let the trailer fool you, I have a pretty normal home across the deck in the other trailer. Living room, Gamer PC for FPS shit, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, tinkering room, typical bachelor pad. This over here is the gun trailer. It¡¯s just weaponry. Trailer armory, if you will. Patriotic American guns on this side, historical and Russian over here. I got AKs and ARs in just about every caliber, 5.56, 5.7, 7.62, 9mil, 300 and 8.6 blackout, 308, 12 gauge. These are some of my favorites, you got the ol 54R chambered Russian Dragunov sniper rifle, and the Fostech 12 gauge. Full auto converted, integrally suppressed 8 inch barrel, I had it gold blinged. It¡¯s not real gold, obviously, anodized steel, but I like 2 kinds of guns. Old classic historical relics that tell a story, scratched and worn in, and modern blinged out spacegun lookin shit with all the bells and whistles. Silencer threaded, laser, infrared, magnification, red dot, flashlight, flip-down iron sights, usually a graphic or color scheme. The fostech just looks like a Gucci¡¯d-out AK47 shotgun from a doom game or something. It¡¯s actually the cure for depression, it just doesn¡¯t come in a 24 hour time release, it comes in short bursts of 5-17 round mags.¡±

    ¡°Interesting collection.¡± Mike nodded.

    ¡°So, what kinda arsenal rooms you got? I bet you got a room just for a thousand yard plus gear, at least one belt fed, I know you got the big 50. I can''t decide if you got like 8 guns woth 20 grand each, or a 50-60 gun collection in every flavor.¡±

    ¡°No, no big collection, no belt fed machine guns, no wall of sniper rifles. Just the 50, the MP5 which is new, recently stolen, little 22 rifle, and Rachel here.¡± Mike smiled, admiring the auto shotgun. Carl blinked a few times with a bewildered look frozen on his face.

    ¡°That¡¯s it? Seriously? 4 guns, and one of them is a 22?¡±

    ¡°That one is more of a wall display for my scope. I don¡¯t need anything else. My philosophy is to not raise suspicion. You kill with a syringe, so a gun collection is ironically not a red flag, more of a red herring, or a red white and blue flag. I kill mostly with guns, so owning a wall of them and a paper trail looks rather telling, but a 22 squirrel plinker and a personal carry 45 after my history, seems just enough. I can hide away a 50 and a MP5 fairly easily. Can¡¯t exactly roll a gun arsenal trailer under the couch if the police knock. I do occasionally pick up a gun from a kill, use it for another kill, and leave the weapon to fuck with forensics and lead police in circles. To be honest, one of the reasons we found you interesting was that you had an arsenal. Catherine is about to start a war and I¡¯m already on her shit list. We could use everyone we can with any moral heart left. How many guys in the group do you think would flip on her if they thought they had a chance?¡±

    ¡°None.¡± He said, looking worried. ¡°Me obviously, but I don¡¯t wanna take her head on, and I think Old Portland would make a stand and then get shot for it. So you¡¯re basically looking at the potential resistance here. And I don¡¯t wanna die going up against 50 people, serial killers, hit men, bodyguards, merchants for hire, a couple of random thugs and spray-n-pray junkies. I was hoping you had some guys, am I not joining the team here and supplying the gear for everyone?¡±

    ¡°This is everyone.¡± Tanner shrugged.

    ¡°Oh fuck me in the balls. 2 people. Yea, you guys are screwed. I won¡¯t kill you guys, but I don¡¯t wanna back you up if this is the whole army. I may just stick this whole war out and say a little prayer for you two when it¡¯s over. This makes no sense. You¡¯re Lakeshot, she¡¯s the Mudergeisha, what happened to the others? The Back seat driver, the Molotov brothers, the bodybag killer? Who took out the cop? I heard the cop got taken out by like 3 people in some gang. Red Pandas or some shit.¡±

    ¡°Crimson Kings. And no. Just me.¡± Mike said. ¡°Tanner distracted him, I took the kill. Molotov brothers was just me, backseat driver, all 4 kills were me.¡±

    ¡°Wait, so you¡¯re just every unsolved case none of us took?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°Four dead in the woods, gang shooting, 45 caliber, internet called it the ghost sharpshooter case. That¡¯s where I got the MP5.¡±

    ¡°Is he joking because I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s joking.¡± Carl said, looking amazed.

    ¡°I think he¡¯s got like 80 kills now. You see him in action, and you start to believe the whole divine protection thing for real. It sounds insane¡­and then you see some insane shit and start to think it¡¯s not.¡± she shrugged.

    ¡°So this whole priest thing is not a bit, you really think you¡¯re god¡¯s hitman? Damn. That¡¯s kinda cold, but if half those hits were really you, I¡¯ll keep an open mind on the god thing. I tried that 1.4 mile shot with my AR50. I emptied a whole box of quality ammo at a target and didn¡¯t scratch it. A first try headshot? I¡¯m good, but that shot is impossible.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. With God, all things are possible. I assure you, without his help, I can''t make a shot that far either.¡± He smirked on technicality.

    ¡°IN the face. A headshot at a grand is bold, man. You just did that on faith and guessing?¡±

    ¡°No guessing involved. I made the round myself, I knew the drop, I chose my spot and I planned it to the letter, I knew it wasn¡¯t a matter of chance, the bullet would land, and it did.¡±

    ¡°Be honest. Look me in the eyes and be dead honest. You made a bunch of shots and just landed the last one by chance, forgot one of the brass shells so they just found the one. You didn¡¯t just do that first try.¡± He smirked excitedly.

    ¡°I only brought one round. I left the brass for them to find it so they would know what they were dealing with. Obviously, I had my sidearm and a full magazine in case I needed to improvise on the way back.¡±

    ¡°HOLY SHIT, you¡¯re not kidding. You brought one bullet and left the brass as a flex? That is unreal. One round, no hesitation, through the head from a different frigging area code, MAN that¡¯s confident.¡± He said, looking like he was gonna ask for his autograph.

    ¡°Well Those bullets are hard to make, and God told me to make one. I didn¡¯t want to show weak faith by taking the time to make another backup round.¡±

    ¡°Man that¡¯s wicked. I would love to learn your shit and God knows¡­sorry for the expression, that I¡¯d love to do some real shooting at human flesh but if this is the whole team going up against Catherine, I gotta decline. You need guns, take your pick, but I don¡¯t have the faith you do and God probably doesn¡¯t value me enough to ensure my life like he does yours, if that¡¯s how it works. You may be the best and bulletproof, but that doesn¡¯t necessarily keep my ass from getting killed, no offense.¡±

    ¡°None taken. You¡¯ve helped out already." Mike nodded.

    ¡°Take the Fostech, that thing¡¯s a beast. Never jams, recoil is shockingly manageable even with slugs. Open offer.¡±

    ¡°I think I like my own collection. I know my own guns better than something new, and I am a creature of repetition and habit. But I also know Catherine better than most, and she has been picking off those not loyal to her slowly but surely, and the group is growing darker and darker. I highly suggest you leave town if you don¡¯t want to join me. God wants me here, and I have work to do. When he wants me to take her out, he¡¯ll tell me. But it¡¯s not time yet.¡±

    ¡°Yea, best of luck, I might take that advice to bail, but I got a few things to do before I do. Gotta visit an old friend and say goodbye, gotta pack up a few toys and take a few days to make an excuse for work in case I come back. I like my job.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Hey Mike, You still want me to do recon at the meeting tonight?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°If you¡¯re okay with it. I have ammo to make.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I can just bum a ride with Carl, if that¡¯s okay? Hang out here and see the toys a little.¡± She insisted. ¡°Remember, we can¡¯t only focus on work ALL the time.¡±

    ¡°I trust you, can I trust Carl?¡± he asked, eyeing him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get her there safe and sound. That¡¯s a promise.¡± He nodded. ¡°I can''t have your back in a war zone, but Tanner is safe with me getting to a meeting, There¡¯s an unwritten rule about the meetings anyway.¡±

    ¡°Catherine makes her own rules, and she thinks she is above them herself. Be careful.¡± Mike said hesitantly, heading to the truck.

    ¡°Mike.¡± Tanner yelled. ¡°If we¡¯re gonna do something stupid, I may wanna go have some alone time after the meeting. So I may be late, I¡¯ll call you if it¡¯s gonna run past midnight, and I¡¯ll take the van.¡± She insisted. He nodded in agreement and rolled down the drive as Carl watched in awe and looked over at Tanner.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t trust me. He must trust you a lot.¡± He muttered.

    ¡°He¡¯s working on that. Actually, I may need your help with something later, are you free tonight after the meeting?¡± Tanner asked Carl.

    ¡°Yea, probably. What kinda help?¡±

    ¡°Body disposal. I gotta do this alone, but I¡¯ll call you after. It would mean a lot. Just tell Mike we hung out after the meeting and got coffee, lost track of time. He¡¯s not super thrilled with my off-script recreation.¡±

    ¡°Off the records. I get it. I¡¯ll be around. Feel free to explore the gun trailer, anything you wanna try out, I got ammo for. I got about an hour to burn before running a persona errand myself.¡± He nodded. She grinned and made her way into the arsenal to pick out what she wanted to try out. As the door closed he casually walked further away and dialed his phone, looking slightly sad about it. ¡°Yea. It¡¯s Carl. I may have a possible shot tonight, we¡¯re hanging out after the meeting, she wants some alone time, MAYBE without the preacher for something. Wasn¡¯t very clear when or for what, I¡¯ll let you know if she¡¯s alone. Yea, he¡¯s definitely got eyes on the meetings. He¡¯s the real deal, no way he¡¯s letting her in there without a 50 cal aimed at the parking lot. That¡¯s a killbox if he goes Rambo on the church. He may even have it mapped out. Talk to you when I have more information, Cathy.¡± Carl sighed. He took a depressingly long breath and regretted his decisions as he made his way back inside, watching her drool over the weaponry and looking for his needle.

    ¡°The fuck did I leave that thing?¡± he sighed, moving his beer and just grabbing a fresh one from the fridge and a fresh clip of 9mm Makarov, laying it on the table next to his backpack and his Skorpion. He picked up his phone again. ¡°Hey, yea it¡¯s me buddy. Listen, um. Some shit might be going down and I may have to leave town for a few days. Mind if I drop by and chat in case¡­you know. Things go sideways. Yea, I got a girl over, but I¡¯ll be there in about an hour. Oh you better have some stories to tell. Yea, I¡¯ll bring a 6 pack. It¡¯ll be cool. Your place. See you there.¡± He said hanging up.

    ¡°Someone from the group?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Old Portland. Hell of a guy. He needs a heads-up if this might get nasty, and we can trust him. He¡¯s a good guy. Old war vet, full of stories. You know I¡¯ve been shooting the shit with him for like 6 months, heard about Vietnam and his wife, and all kinds of shit. Don¡¯t know his real name. Nobody does. Just old Portland. Getting old sucks, Tanner. Don¡¯t ever do it. Live your life and die just before you reach old age, while you still got some spark left. That retirement is the thing that kills your soul. He was a damn war hero, guy crawled through dark tunnels with a knife in his teeth and no gun in the muddy water in those tunnels and killed like 40 Vietcong, pitch black silence, slit their throat, moved on. That takes some guts. Now he just watches MASH reruns and goes to group. It¡¯s really sad. He was the OG hitman when he got back for decades, and then he just... got too old." he sighed as Tanner thought about Mike''s graying hair. "No enemies left, killed them all. Settled down alone. Breaks my heart. He should have died in a blaze of glory and bullets like a badass, fuckin John Dillinger style standoff. Little late now.¡± Carl shook his head.

    ¡°It¡¯s sweet that you visit him.¡± She smiled. You¡¯re a decent guy, Carl. Little weird, but we all are in this neck of the woods.¡±

    ¡°No I¡¯m not. I¡¯m not that great.¡± He smiled sadly.

    Old Portland sat in his living room, taking his insulin and covering with a blanket, as he heard a knock on the door.

    ¡°It¡¯s unlocked.¡± He hollered, wispy white hair tucked under gold rimmed glasses with thick coke bottle lenses, staring at the door. He smiled when Carl walked in and shut the door, locking it.

    ¡°You know you should keep that door locked. Someone could sneak up¡­¡± he said, looking down as Portland moved the blanket and slowly placed the sawed off shotgun down.

    ¡°You were saying? Someone could sneak in here and get shot trying to rob me?¡± he chuckled. Looking back at the little old TV, military green and almost as thick as it was wide, at a whopping 20 inches or so, faded gray picture playing black and white reruns.

    ¡°Shit, you never disappoint, old timer. Got your favorite beer, a cigar. You got any old war stories you haven¡¯t told yet, gramps?¡± he asked, sitting down and cracking one open for him, and one for himself.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve heard them all at least once. I heard you say you were with a lady today. I hope that goes well.

    ¡°Yea me too, but honestly I don¡¯t have a good feeling about it. You ever think something you¡¯re doing might be a mistake and you should just bail and take off early?¡±

    ¡°Pussying out before the big fight? Damnit Carl, if you¡¯re gonna get killed, you might as well go for it. Die feeling proud of yourself at least.¡± Portland gruffed.

    ¡°That¡¯s kinda the problem. She¡¯s a nice girl and I got a shot with her, but she¡¯s claimed. Someone¡¯s gonna get hurt. Doesn¡¯t feel right.¡± Carl said cryptically.

    ¡°Well, then don¡¯t do it. Simple as that, kid. You know what¡¯s right and what¡¯s not. Why are you asking me what to do? Do what you think you need to, if you¡¯re not sure, don¡¯t do it.¡±

    ¡°Yea, I know what I gotta do. I just don¡¯t want to.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re here to kill me, aren¡¯t you?¡± he asked, casually taking a swig, as Carl looked perplexed.

    ¡°What on Earth makes you think that?¡± he asked

    ¡°That¡¯s sort of your style, isn¡¯t it? You got a suppressor on your Scorpion, you never carry suppressed.¡± He noted. ¡°I can see the outline in your coat.¡±

    ¡°So why didn¡¯t you shoot me when you had the shotgun. I thought the point of the shotgun was for people coming to get your ass.¡± Carl muttered.

    ¡°No, the shotgun is for people breaking in to steal my stuff, and in case Catherine walked in that door instead of you. I wouldn¡¯t mind giving her a barrel of buckshot. I know they¡¯re going after the preacher soon. You don¡¯t have it in you to take her side, and she knows I don¡¯t give a tinker¡¯s damn about her plans. So I know either she¡¯s coming for me with a choice, or she will be sending someone.¡±

    ¡°She didn¡¯t send me. I just came here on my own to say goodbye because I¡¯m not sticking around for this fight, and I like you old timer. So either I¡¯m leaving you and someone else is gonna show up at that door, or¡­we can do this on your terms. She¡¯s a real nasty bitch to people she doesn¡¯t like. Probably threaten you, torture you. That¡¯s just not right to go down that way. You¡¯ve been through too much to go down like that. So enjoy your cigar and your beer, take your time. How do you wanna go? I can leave you the needle, I can do it myself, I can just say goodbye, and let you stand your ground with the shotgun¡­or I can put one in your head. Your call.¡± Carl said.

    ¡°Getting tortured or bleeding out on the floor shooting back at some prick following her orders doesn¡¯t sit well with me, and I doubt she has the balls to show up herself, so the shotgun won¡¯t get to do its job. You should do it. However, you think is best.¡± He smiled, finishing his beer and kicking back.

    ¡°Quick and cold. Do you have a preference for an open casket or a closed one? Any family that would want to see you one last time?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°No, you know better than most that nobody comes here anymore. They never do when you get old. The nurse that does my medication and cleans once a week, and you, are about it as far as visitation. Back of the head is fine.¡± He nodded. Carl stood up slowly, extending a hand to shake and giving him a firm one and a respectful nod.

    ¡°Gonna miss you, Portland. Do I get to know your name first?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s no fun. Spoils the mystery and makes me just another old fart you sent to the gates when they had nothing left. I¡¯m selfish, I wanna be remembered and mysterious. Don¡¯t forget that knife you always stared at from Nam. That¡¯s yours when you go. Otherwise, just go for it.¡± he smirked, looking ready.

    ¡°Thanks, old man. Maybe some day this thing will end up finding its way into Catherine¡¯s back.¡±

    ¡°No, don¡¯t even try it. You¡¯ll get killed getting that close. Just do what you gotta do and live your life. Let the war do its thing and claim who it wants. You do good work. Keep doing it.¡± Portland said, as a sudden jolt slumped him over the chair, and Carl held up the smoking suppressor and grabbed the old K-bar knife from the table.

    ¡°See you there one day.¡± He said sadly. Putting 2 more into his chest just to be sure he didn¡¯t suffer. He placed the blanket over him and holstered the pistol, he poured a shot from an old bottle and took a sip, placing the remaining glass in Portland''s¡¯s hand, spilling it on the blanket and placing the smoldering cigar down. He stood outside waiting for the flicker of flames to be sure, heading out as the fire began to grow visible in the kitchen window. He calmly drove down the road, windows down and silent, looking both proud and ashamed. He held the phone up to his ear and hung his head for a moment.

    ¡°Yea, I went to see Portland. I tried to convince him to pick the right side on this, but I don¡¯t think he was ever going to do that. He was a stubborn old man to the end. No it was no trouble really. Just an old man, my business as usual. Sending someone else would have been a mistake, he had a shotgun ready for the door, Cathy. Anyone else would have gotten a dick full of buckshot on the way in. I gotta prove I can hang. I set the place on fire, one shot to the lower back so he can¡¯t crawl out. He got the message, the last thing he experienced was a fuck you from Catherine and a crippling round before the place went up. He suffered, like you wanted. No, I¡¯m thrilled to get my hands dirty for once. Lethal injection gets boring. I had a good kill. The girl is not a problem, just let me make sure the preacher isn¡¯t there. He¡¯s above my pay grade, I¡¯m not fucking with the preacher. You want him, that¡¯s your problem. I can handle an old man and a girl with a knife. That man is a boss fight I¡¯m not geared up for. Don¡¯t underestimate him. He¡¯s got people and connections I can¡¯t seem to get information on. I don¡¯t know, fucking, 6 guys, 30? How do I know? He won¡¯t give names, just cryptic little bible verses and snippits of stories. He¡¯s not alone, though. You may wanna hold back a while, and if I think he¡¯s on me, I¡¯m gonna have to disappear. You know my safehouse location, call before knocking. Anyway, Tanner shouldn¡¯t be an issue. We¡¯re doing a body dump tonight, I¡¯ll handle it then. I made my choice; I just proved that if you got the fire department radio tapped. See you at the meeting." he said, hanging up. "Or see you in hell, either way."

 Chapter 17: Taken

    Tanner stood shivering outside the meeting church as cars rolled away, her presence undetected and silent as she flipped her hood up and walked briskly through the darkness.

    ¡°There you are, you son of a bitch. You should have stayed home.¡± She said to herself, palming the syringe of tranquilizer with a discreet little hop, she struck like a snake in the night, wrestling her target to the ground and dragging him into the brush where she had the wheeled dolly from Mike¡¯s plumbing van, good and ready.

    Damien woke in the gray room of the dentist¡¯s office, ziptied hands and feet to the moveable dentist chair.

    ¡°What is this?¡± he asked as a pale white face appeared from the shadows, red and black geisha themed, with the additional skull details and a dead solemn look on Tanner¡¯s face.

    ¡°Damien Baker, you have made mistakes.¡± she said without her usual joyful excitement and background mood music.

    ¡°Tanner, I don¡¯t understand, what is this, blackmail, interrogation?¡±

    ¡°You know what this is, Damien. You didn¡¯t leave me much choice." She said, flipping out her freshly re-sharpened Stabby friend.

    ¡°The fuck is this outfit, you trying to scare me off, girl I already forgot about you and moved on to bigger problems that a hooker with a few counts of rapist murder. I don¡¯t care about that, I¡¯m not after you. There¡¯s a much bigger problem than you understand.¡±

    ¡°Why were you at the meetings? You¡¯re after the preacher, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. I¡¯m not following you either; I don¡¯t care about your shit. I got big time hit men, and I¡¯m so close to cracking this case wide open. You think I give a damn about you and your friend? This is the organization I¡¯ve been after for years. The Molotov brothers killings, the dead officers, the magnesium killer, the back seat driver, Lakeshot, they could all be part of this one group and that¡¯s all I care about. I swear. One old killer is something I can let go, one hooker, you two could just retire and I''d never say a word. I want the group.¡±

    ¡°You see, that¡¯s the problem. I''ve tried to tell you. They¡¯re all Preacher Mike. Every one you listed off. You¡¯re chasing one man, and he¡¯s MY man. You could have just left after he warned you, but you had to go after your group of killers.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand, This AA group is mostly assassins and serial killers. I have 21 different cases nobody believes are even connected, and they¡¯re all part of the damn church meeting, you¡¯re in over your head.¡± he warned.

    ¡°No, Damien, YOU are. You really never made the connection to the unsolved hitman cases?¡± she said holding up Rachel, unscrewing the barrel insert and placing it down next to the others on the dentist tool tray, placing a magnesium round on his chest as he slumped back and looked defeated. "Honey, they''re almost all just Mike. Most of those kills, the ones you know were deserved that you''ve obsessed over. All Mike. Every one of them he did alone. He really IS Lakeshot. I''ve seen the gun he used and the tungsten bullets. You barked up the wrong tree." she sighed.

    ¡°Fuck. You¡¯re not gonna let me leave here alive, are you?¡± he asked, trying to stay strong and collected, and assess the situation.

    ¡°I can''t let you arrest my Mike. Now you finally meet the Murder geisha, or as you INSIST on calling it...¡± she said rolling her eyes. ¡°The Decatur Decapitator¡± she said mockingly. ¡°Like really? That¡¯s just lame. I only cut the second guy¡¯s head off. One guy. I worked hard on this persona, the whole avenging lady of the night with weeb themed weaponry, and it takes a long time to do this makeup. Nobody even mentions that in the papers. Frankly, I¡¯m insulted you never believed it was me alone. You never thought I had the balls to kill without hand-holding, let alone multiples. And you underestimated Mike... But I love him, and half the killers you INSIST on taking down, are him. He¡¯s a good guy, he''s doing the cop¡¯s jobs for them, cleaning up the real evil fuckers, and you can¡¯t let a cold case stay cold, you just keep showing up. You are forcing him to defend himself and I know Mike, he¡¯ll feel guilty and horrible about killing you, but he will because you¡¯re after me too. Someone has to stop you and I don¡¯t want a good man to have to lose sleep because he killed what he says is just a good cop doing his job in the wrong place at the wrong time... because of me. So I¡¯m taking care of it myself. Don¡¯t act like you didn¡¯t use me to get to him before. Blackmailing a girl over murder charges to bring in a preacher just doing HIS job.¡±

    ¡°I swear. I¡¯m out. I¡¯ll quit my job, I¡¯ll move out of state, I¡¯ll drop all of this.¡± He pleaded.

    ¡°Not good enough. I know you better than Mike does. You tamper with evidence, you lie, you cheat to get your way. Your own wife can''t even trust your word. I can¡¯t trust your silence and that you WON¡¯T talk, unless you just¡­CAN¡¯T talk. Damien, you did this to yourself. We have a higher purpose here, he believes in something you don¡¯t, and that¡¯s what is right for the world, despite the broken laws and the bullshit rules the cops enforce when they want. He gets his orders from something bigger than us. And he¡¯s Mine. I claimed him, I¡¯ll die or kill for him, and luckily it¡¯s the second one I¡¯m good at. Now normally I really enjoy this part, the mind-fuckery before the cutting starts telling you your sins and why you deserve to die for what sick evil you¡¯ve done to make yourself my prey, preying on whoever you have, but this time just sucks for everyone because you¡¯re not really evil. This isn¡¯t righteous and fun, it¡¯s just... necessary. A lesser of two evils. His life or yours. The choice is simple, so you can be relieved I won¡¯t be torturing you like the others. You know what, you get a choice, Bucky. Stabby-stabs, gun shot to the head, or lethal injection?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡± He said, sighing in defeat. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­tell you how to kill me.¡± He said, welling up sadly. ¡°The fucked up part is I can¡¯t decide if I feel worse for my wife or Gina, which one this will devastate more.¡±

    ¡°Oh the wife, I''m sure. I don¡¯t know her, but I assume she loved you at some point and still might have some feelings left. Gina sold you out to the group. They were gonna kill you anyway. I¡¯m doing you a favor. Some of those assholes are really off in the head. Blondie skins people alive, you know the quiet Russian guy is into some dark kink shit.¡±

    ¡°Says the girl who slashes and murdered 6 people.¡± He chuckled, a tear running down his face.

    ¡°Rapists and kiddie-diddlers, dude. They deserved the wrath of Stabby. Don¡¯t act like I just killed random hobos and shoplifters. These people should have been in prison for life, but they either got let go by the system as informants, or given a few years and released on good behavior. You¡¯re the first person with a soul, I¡¯m gonna have to kill. And you just left me no better choice. Lethal injection, broken heart, or firing squad, seriously, I don¡¯t have all day, I gotta dispose of your body and make it look like a robbery. You¡¯re not a lightweight person, Dead people are hard to move. Pokey-poke, sleepie-time or instant domesplat?¡± come on, chop-chop. Don¡¯t make me roll dice.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± He muttered, tugging on the zipties one last time.

    ¡°Any last words?¡± she asked, cocking the HK and pointing the silencer at his face.

    ¡°Can¡¯t tell my wife I¡¯m sorry and I miss her. Not gonna let me die on my feet like a man. I guess I¡¯m just sorry. I¡¯m sorry you got caught up in everything, and I¡¯m sorry I used you to get to Mike. I¡¯m sorry for whatever childhood lead you to this kind of life, because you could have been something better. Shoot me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m kinda sorry, too.¡± She sighed, pulling the trigger and silencing him with a flash and a light pop. ¡°But shit happens and we move on. You fucked with my Mikey. That¡¯s your choice, not mine. Bye Damien.¡± She yawned almost casually. ¡°God, this was just no fun at all. I don¡¯t even really wanna stab you.¡±

    The plastic lawn bag flopped down near the water¡¯s edge as tanner sighed and brushed her hands off.

    ¡°Thanks for the help.¡± She said, smiling sadly up at Carl, who was sipping some coffee. ¡°I didn¡¯t wanna ask Mike, but body disposal isn¡¯t really my thing. I like to leave a crime scene with a message to it. This one has to look like a mugging gone wrong or something. Don¡¯t tell Mike.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I won¡¯t, it¡¯s chill. Gutsy move though, taking a cop, alone. Even if he was on your ass, that¡¯s hardcore. A 32 to the head, 4 shots down, neck shoulder, chest. Good pattern though. Looks like a panic mag dump instead of a pro headshot. Gloves, hair up, good work. We¡¯ll just leave him here.¡±

    ¡°Not used to body disposal either hu? You look nervous or just grossed out. I figured you¡¯d be more used to it.¡± she said, growing suspicious.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that. I just hate the next part. Feel really gross about it.¡± he said, drawing his VZ68 Skorpion from his back holster and pointing it at her.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± she nervously giggled. ¡°Don¡¯t point that at me. That¡¯s not funny. That¡¯s a real gun.¡±

    ¡°I know. And just like you, I have to do something I don¡¯t wanna do, but shit happens. I¡¯m supposed to take you in alive, bring you to Catherine¡¯s warehouse as bait for the preacher. She wants him alive, but she knows none of us have the balls to bring him in breathing, so¡­you¡¯re the bait.¡± Carl shrugged.

    ¡°Carl, you better be joking right now. Say It''s a prank, bro. Gun''s not loaded, Serial killer prank, lol.¡± she glared angrily.

    ¡°Dead serious. They¡¯re waiting for me to confirm I have you restrained and in custody. The thing is, I can¡¯t do it. I kill people who are suffering and dying anyway, That¡¯s different. This is fucked up and wrong. They¡¯re gonna torture and kill you both, just because he¡¯s a threat to her, and she can¡¯t face him herself. Some chicken shit stuff. Really, just stabbing someone in the back for no reason. Then again, if I refuse to do it, they¡¯re gonna hunt me down and kill me. So that sucks for me.¡± he explained. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°So you¡¯re gonna try and take me alive, shoot me in the leg or expect me to just go willingly?¡± she asked, teeth gnashed with rage and betrayal.

    ¡°No. I¡¯m gonna give you a fair warning and tell you to unload that HK so you don¡¯t shoot me. Clear the gun, and then when you''re disarmed, and you can¡¯t put one in my back, I¡¯m gonna turn it, and you¡¯re gonna get the hell out of here. I¡¯m gonna dose myself with the tranquilizer, light dose, lock the van, and when I wake up I¡¯m gonna tell them you did it and got away. Then I¡¯m getting the hell out of the state and finding a new place to live because they may not believe me, or just kill me for doing a bad job. I¡¯m not getting killed over this, but I¡¯m not bringing you in to get tortured and killed. So you should really move fast, you¡¯ll be on foot and unarmed. They will go after you.¡± He said, taking out his little boot pistol. ¡°Now toss the magazine my way.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me to escape and defend myself with an unloaded gun?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Hey, you can still bluff with it if they don¡¯t know it¡¯s unloaded. You¡¯re not stopping them with a handgun anyway if they catch you, and if you shoot me for this, I¡¯m the dipshit for trusting you. Again, I¡¯m not getting killed for you, I¡¯m just giving you a chance to run and survive. We¡¯re all probably fucked here. Don¡¯t freak out¡­¡± he said, firing 2 shots into the tree next to her. ¡°Now it looks like I tried to shoot you at least. Run bitch. Run your ass off and get to Mike before they get to you. I¡¯m out of this shitshow.¡± He said waving the gun to motivate her.

    ¡°I guess, thank you?¡± she pondered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t, just run.¡± He sighed as she turned and took off, expecting a bullet in the back at any moment as Carl stood there and popped a fresh piece of gum, still pointing the 9mm at her as she escaped. He pushed the body off the side of the bank and into the river, getting out the syringe. He locked the door to the van and fell backwards, trying to decide what angle to best stick himself, going for the left shoulder.

    Catherine woke up to the sound of her phone going off. She checked the number and sighed with annoyance.

    ¡°This better be important.¡± She said as Carl huffed, out of breath.

    ¡°I fucked it, Tanner knows something¡¯s up.¡± he lied.

    ¡°Define exactly what that means, Carl.¡± She growled.

    ¡°She killed a cop and I helped her dispose of the body down by the river. I saw an opportunity, but I couldn¡¯t call for backup in time. I was gonna dose her after we dumped the cop, bring her in Mike¡¯s plumbing van. I don¡¯t know how she knew something was off, but I grabbed her, she got the syringe and stuck me in the neck. I put 2 rounds at her feet and missed, blacked out, woke up just now. It¡¯s been 30 minutes or so, she¡¯s long gone and probably back to Mike¡¯s house. I think she''s still armed. I¡¯m so sorry. She¡¯s faster than she looks, and I¡¯m used to dosing old folks that don¡¯t see it coming, or want to struggle.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m amazed you¡¯re still alive.¡± She said skeptically. "Tanner seems like the kind to shoot you for that, steal your guns, and take the van. Shocked, she just left it."

    ¡°Yea me too. I guess when your gun''s still holstered and someone shoots at you with a machine pistol, some people just run. I told you I wasn¡¯t right for this job.¡±

    ¡°You let a hundred pound girl overpower you and stick you with your own syringe?¡± Catherine barked.

    ¡°Hey, she''s fast and a stabber. Do you wanna take a dose of this shit and see how well you do? I got 2 shots off, I may have clipped her. She knew I was gonna double-cross her, someone tipped her off, or you got a bug in the church. She saw it coming, and I wasn¡¯t expecting her to turn around and fight back. My targets never do that. You should have had Deacon do it.¡±

    ¡°Deacon has the charisma of Jason Voorhees. He would have never got close. She liked you. That¡¯s why I had your stupid ass do the job, and apparently botch it.¡± Catherine barked.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m just a trophy vulture who likes to watch the life leave people¡¯s eyes. I¡¯m a quiet dose serial killer with too many guns, not a pro, not a snatch and grab guy. I told you I wasn¡¯t right for it. I took care of Portland, I underestimated Tanner.¡± He said

    ¡°What about Mike? What kind of support and firepower does he have?¡±

    ¡°He never would say, he just said he has connections and tools for the jobs. They guy is cryptic as hell. I¡¯m gonna get out of town before he comes looking for my ass.¡±

    ¡°I figured you might botch this. That¡¯s why I bugged her purse with a tracker at the meeting. Deacon will do the job for you. He can handle Mike.¡±

    ¡°Hope so, but I wouldn¡¯t bet on it.¡± he said, hanging up. He sighed and checked the van for hidden guns before starting the engine and dialing another number. ¡°Pick up the phone, Mike.¡± He said as the ringing stopped. ¡°Shit. Maybe you are blessed, Preacher. Listen carefully, there¡¯s no time to dick around if you want tanner to live. I just put a target on my own back to save her life when I was ordered to bring her in as bait. So you¡¯re gonna do that preacher forgiveness thing and believe me when I say I¡¯m sorry, and I had no choice, and in return I¡¯ll tell you what¡¯s about to drop on you two.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m listening Carl. Tell me where Tanner is, and if she¡¯s safe and alive, I¡¯ll forgive you. If not, you need to start praying, because even if God himself says to spare you, if she dies, you do too. Talk.¡± He said alarmingly calm as he grabbed his guns and started loading magazines.

    ¡°She¡¯s alive and unharmed and on her way to you, unless Deacon got to her first. I didn¡¯t know they had a backup plan in case I screwed up. I stole your van, but I left you a present in your truck, you¡¯re welcome. I¡¯m headed to Canada. Hit South 51 and look for Tanner on foot. If they get to her first they¡¯ll call YOU with the address, it¡¯s a trap, but you have to take it. I¡¯m sorry Mike. I respect your work and I hope you find Tanner first.¡± He said, hanging up and driving towards his bug-out location.

    Mike rushed to the door, opening a kitchen drawer and tearing off the wrapping paper of a box with the words "Happy birthday, Tanner" on it. Taking out an identical HK45, but with a few accents of anodized rainbow coloring on the slide release and trigger. Mike opened the truck and hesitantly opened the gun case, half expecting a bomb to go off, but too rushed to do anything else but have faith. He smirked at the contents, a laptop, and a strange looking pair of camouflage pouches, a cammo vest and a few grenades. He puzzled, closing it and peeling out of the driveway to find Tanner. With a pile of guns and ammo loosely in the seat beside him, he drove down South 51 as fast as the old truck would move, lights off in case cops were camping it. His phone rang and he felt his heart sink as he picked it up, knowing who would be on the other end.

    ¡°Hello Mike.¡± Said the familiar voice of his sponsor.

    ¡°Hello Catherine. It¡¯s late. You better have something important to say to me.¡± He said coldly.

    ¡°Oh I do. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re familiar with the members of my group. My Russian employee just picked up your little friend Tanner. She¡¯s alive and safe, and headed to my safehouse.¡± She said calmly.

    ¡°It won¡¯t be safe when I get there, I promise.¡± He replied.

    ¡°Oh It will be for most of us, this only has to go badly for you, Mike. Not for Tanner. You¡¯ve hit a few members of my group, and that¡¯s not very sporting in our line of work. There are rules and breaking them means consequences. You refused to play for my team, now I only require one life as payment, as long as it¡¯s yours. You¡¯re causing me a lot of trouble, Tanner isn¡¯t a real threat. So if you come to the location unarmed and give yourself up, we let her go without a mark and pretend we never knew her, and then we¡¯ll kill you. Or you can refuse, and we¡¯ll just slowly take her apart until you show up. What¡¯s left of her to set free depends on how long you make me wait and how difficult you make this for me.¡± She said.

    ¡°We both know you won¡¯t let her go, even if I do show up unarmed and willing. If I believed you for a second, I¡¯d gladly take that offer, but you¡¯ll kill her after I hang up the phone, so let me make a counteroffer.¡± He said, opening the case and the laptop inside it. ¡°I have Gina Garrett on file, videos of you both having some very illegal conversations about a recently missing Detective, You really should sweep your house on Maple drive better for bugs. Can you be a mile away from where you are before I get there? How confident of that are you that you don¡¯t have to pass open air to get to a safehouse? I know you¡¯re home right now. I have you on camera. That¡¯s a long driveway. Will your windshield stop a tungsten round from a 50BMG? How about the tires or the engine block? I am familiar with your little group, names, home addresses, and I have people of my own you don¡¯t know about. So I¡¯m going to call Tanner¡¯s phone every 10 minutes on the dot, and if she doesn¡¯t answer and tell me she¡¯s alive and unharmed, I¡¯ll personally put a bullet in your right eye socket, AFTER the torture. No negotiations, those are facts. You won¡¯t know how many guys I have on the move following which member, whether it¡¯s¡­ Harry Layton with a car bomb, or if Maverick Deacon is about to encounter an unfortunate gang shooting. David Swift might just get mugged in the streets for that backpack and stabbed in the throat. Now, if Tanner were to go walking alone, and one of my guys picks her up, I might go visit your little safehouse location, and we can discuss the problem between us. I know the address already.¡± He said, glancing at the laptop and the list Carl left him, scrolling the map and the details.

    ¡°Clever old dog, Preacher Mike. I still have you severely outnumbered.¡±

    ¡°You do. So that means if I give the green light, you¡¯ll die first, and I¡¯ll watch you do it. Does it really matter what happens after that shot? Who technically won at your funeral, you conceited bitch? We¡¯re both dead early on, and a handful of your survivors will drink to your memory before fighting over who¡¯s in charge. Sounds like a great victory for you. You have to leave that house eventually, if I have one man left with faith in the cause, that¡¯s the last time you leave the house. The Molotov Brothers can take shifts and scout for your guys. Nobody even knows what they look like, it¡¯s almost like they can disappear into the woods for days and camp a location.¡±

    ¡°Okay. So we have a bit of a standoff. How about this... You call for proof of life, every 30 minutes, tanner will assure you she is safe. You show up to the safehouse you already know, apparently, and you stand at the gate with your hands up and Jacket open. I¡¯ll tell my man Blondie the Butcher to escort her safely to the back drive, and you can watch her walk away safe and sound. Until you show up in person, she stays with the Butcher. You know how these cutters get along nicely together. And we can just wait for your man to pick her up while you stand arms up at the front gate. If you have any halfway competent men, they can drive her to wherever you want, and you get to die there instead of her. Remember Mike, she¡¯s a nobody, and she means nothing to me, but bringing you in is everything so I can leave my house with you in cuffs in a room under guard. You don¡¯t get to live through this, just her, and whoever your men are we don¡¯t know about. Just you, Mike. Only you need to die to set this right, but if you do anything stupid, I¡¯m perfectly willing to kill everyone you know. What would Jesus do?¡± she snidely asked.

    ¡°Jesus would die for the ones he loved as a willing sacrifice. Thing is, I¡¯m more of a follower of the old-testament God. Eye for an eye, blood for blood, trust not the sinner and their lies, but carry a rod of iron in the face of evil. I¡¯ll gladly die once tanner is safe, but until that moment, you better believe I have plagues and the angel of death ready to rain hellfire on your sinfull ass, and mercy is earned, not gifted. God sent me tanner for a reason, and if that reason is to live instead of me, and remember my legacy while I die for her sins, so be it. But you try anything stupid, and harm one hair on her head, I won¡¯t have the Molotov Brothers shoot in the face. My orders are shoot to maim, and make sure you believe in hell before you go there. Vengeance tenfold and your suffering will seem eternal, I can promise that.¡± He said, breathing darkly into the phone. ¡°But if she¡¯s safe and unharmed, we have a deal, and a contract. Consider it me signing in blood for my soul, Miss Catherine."

    "It''s such a shame you aren''t a team player, Mike. You''ve got an evil side buried in you that even my best men don''t. It''s tragic that it only comes out when it''s forced out. You could be the best of the group if you would just compromise a little and convince that side to show up more often."

    "Don''t worry, it''s making an appearance. I will be the best of the group if you hurt her, because there can''t be anyone better, if there''s nobody left alive." He said, hanging up coldly.

 Chapter 18: Murder Playlist

    Tanner woke up tied to a chair, as Blondie sat on the table with a knife in his hand and stared at her.

    ¡°You know, you are a very pretty girl without all that makeup. You would make a lovely blonde.¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Oh suck my dick, creep. I know your whole thing. I¡¯m a cutter too. Do your worst, and then when Mikey find you, he¡¯s gonna make your death last for days, and days and days¡­and days.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°You cannot intimidate me, little girl. Your Preacher Mike will be here for you, and he will be unarmed or lightly armed, he will not get past the gates. This place has many concrete walls and barred windows, layers of them, and every layer locks from the inside. So unless your Preacher is God himself and can step through solid locks like a ghost¡­we are in here together for some time, and he will be dead soon. And when he is dead, I get to have you for myself. Miss Catherine wants the preacher for her own enjoyment, but she does not care about you. You are nothing. Nobody, just bait. Bait does not survive the catch, and nobody gets in this room. So¡­we just wait. And if that phone rings, you tell him you are okay and safe. And when the phone rings for me, you are no longer okay and safe.¡± He smiled, sinisterly, his dark sunglasses and navy blue suit reflecting the devil himself in his intentions, a stiletto knife in his hand like a pen ready to sign her soul away in blood, at the first order. She glared back, unamused and calm.

    ¡°It¡¯s not the gun that makes it special, it¡¯s the idea and the intent, and the inserts¡± Mike reminded himself

    He placed the two submachine guns in front of him, placing the Glock and the new ¡°Rachel¡± to either side, loaded with 5.7mm armor piercing and 357 magnum hollow-points respectfully. He placed down several pistol mags, rifle mags and 2 shotgun magazines for Gwen, dropping in the 7mm rifle barrel insert and checking the quick disconnect spring and ejecting it, adding more oil to the barrel to be sure. He flipped the Glock switch to rapid fun-mode, and stuck in the 32 round mag in before checking that the MP5 had the right barrel insert for 7.62 Tokarev, full metal jacket steel core.

    ¡°Lord. Forgive me for what I am about to do, because I trust you wouldn¡¯t place me in this situation to lose her, and I can¡¯t do this in thermal mode the entire time, so I¡¯m trusting that you to guide my hands and clear any people from the buildings that have a chance of changing their lives for the better. If I¡¯m wrong, and I send any innocent souls to the grave in the process, maybe they should have thought twice about being around these men who abduct girls and make enemies like me, because I¡¯m not shooting to wound or warn. I intend to rival my entire career numbers tonight, and I beg you that if one life is spared, let it be Tanner. She deserves a life. So I pray that you place in my path only those deserving of my wrath, and if I die tonight, I¡¯m fine with it, because I¡¯m not leaving her there and once I start shooting, I won¡¯t be able to control my temptation.¡± He said, loading his coat and Kevlar vest. ¡°Quite frankly, I don¡¯t wanna. I hope I get to kill every last one of those sons of bitches that watched her get dragged in there and did nothing to help. If I¡¯m freeing human bodies of evil spirits, then so be it, and if I¡¯m just slaughtering a bunch of assholes that took my Tanner, well, lord¡­¡± He said racking the action on the Glock. ¡°I really don¡¯t give a flying fuck.¡± He said darkly, feeling his halo smolder and crumble.

    He cracked open an energy drink and grabbed about a 4<sup>th</sup> full bottle of pure grain alcohol, and poured the green liquid inside with it, he dug through tanner¡¯s little pill pouches and dropped a pink one into the bottle, fizzing away as he chugged it down. He felt a painful heat rising in his chest and through his veins, as he flipped the hoodie up over his head and put in one headphone, He skipped through several jazz and blues playlists and selected Industrial Metal mix ¡°Symbiote¡± and hit play.

    ¡°May God have mercy on your souls¡­ because I won''t.¡± He whispered, opening his eyes, almost glowing with rage, and began walking.

    Mike reached the fence, hitting the buzzer and hearing the microphone voice of Catherine chiming in.

    ¡°Hello Mike. I see you brought some firepower.¡±

    ¡°You said I wasn¡¯t entering the building armed and to show up jacket open¡­well it¡¯s open.¡± He said, MP5 in one hand and opening his jacket to show 2 holstered and suppressed pistols. ¡°You said AFTER tanner is safe and on the road, I go in unarmed. So until then, I¡¯m armed.¡±

    ¡°I got snipers on you, Mike. I could take you out before you do anything stupid."

    ¡°I got snipers on you too. I know you¡¯re at your house waiting safely for them to take me alive, and you won¡¯t move until I¡¯m incapacitated, you chicken-shit whore. My man outside your home won''t move from that spot until I give the order that Tanner is safe. So let me talk to Tanner, and I have a cab waiting down the road. She gets in that cab and disappears, then I tell my man to stand down, and THEN I drop the guns and walk in nice and peacefully. Any deviation from that, and people just start dying, you first."

    ¡°Okay. Blondie. Take the girl to the rear exit. Blondie¡­respond.¡± she said on her cell phone.

    ¡°I don¡¯t hear Tanner. You better hope your man Blondie didn¡¯t do anything impulsive.¡± Mike said, the figures in the dark, almost glowing with heat despite no thermals. He could sense them, like a vampire smelling the blood before it spilled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why he¡¯s not responding. Damnit Blondie, report!¡± she barked.

    ¡°Sharpshooter 2, aim for Catherine''s stomach, we may need a rather nasty incentive.¡± Mike ordered.

    ¡°No, just remain calm. Blondie follows orders well, he didn¡¯t do anything, and this is a technical problem with communications. I have someone getting her as we speak.¡± She said, cutting the line and switching to another. ¡°Deacon, Blondie won¡¯t respond, start plan B.¡± she said switching back nervously. ¡°Mike. She¡¯s fine, our security jammers are interfering with the cell reception in the saferoom. We¡¯re moving her to the exit now.¡± She said as Gina Garrett in cuffs was bagged and pushed at gunpoint by Tyler to the exit. They walked to the waiting cab as the cab driver watched, phone in his hand.

    ¡°Are they bringing her?¡± Mike asked the cab driver.

    ¡°Yea, they are. I better get paid double for this weird shit. You didn¡¯t say someone with a gun would be following her." said the cab driver.

    ¡°They aren¡¯t supposed to be. Catherine.¡± Mike said coldly. ¡°I wanna hear her voice, in the next 3 seconds, or you¡¯re a dead woman."

    ¡°Mike. I¡¯m Okay! I¡¯m sa-¡± Tanner said as the phone reception cut out, Gina playing a recording of Tanner from earlier as Tyler stopped and Gina walked alone.

    ¡°The place is a cell dead zone for a reason, Mike. Just remain calm.¡± Said Catherine, drumming her nails nervously.

    Gina held her head down and ducked into the cab as the driver sighed with relief.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what kinda shit this is, but I better get soooo paid.¡± The cab driver said as the sound of a revolver cocking silenced him.

    ¡°Tell Mike I¡¯m fine, but pretty shook up, tell him the reception is breaking up, and drive away. If you don¡¯t do that perfectly, I shoot you in the back. Understood?¡± Gina whispered.

    ¡°Absolutely¡­ Mike, she¡¯s in the cab. She¡¯s fine but a little shook up, We¡¯re leaving now, Hello? The reception is bad here. Tanner is in the cab and we¡¯re moving.¡± He said hanging up and stepping on the gas. Mike peered through his binoculars down the road at the moving cab and waited till it was far enough away even a good sniper couldn¡¯t hit it.

    ¡°Mike, she¡¯s safe and driving away." Catherine nervously lied. "That was the deal. Guns down and hands up, step past the gate when it opens and don¡¯t stop walking.¡± Catherine said, switching lines. ¡°What the fuck is going on? Why isn¡¯t Blondie responding?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Deacon replied. ¡°That room only opens from the inside.¡±

    ¡°Well, if he hurt that girl early, Kill him. Plan B just saved our asses and Mike is falling for it, but if that sadistic fucker disobeyed orders, he dies for it. I have no tolerance for improvisation to my orders!" she yelled.

    Mike sat down the MP5, the backpack containing Gwen and opened his jacket, doing a spin to show he was going peacefully, dropping both pistols and tossing his jacket.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I¡¯m unarmed just like you asked.¡± He said dialing his phone. ¡°Tanner?¡± he asked, calling her again and getting no response. No outgoing signal. His eyes went cold and dark as a voice in his head whispered the words Tanner never left the saferoom. In a ghostly echo. ¡°Catherine, you double-crossing bitch.¡± He said, as he turned and dropped, a sudden impact striking his knee and collapsing him. Then he heard the gunshot. He rolled over, clutching his knee in pain as footsteps approached through the open gates, another gunshot striking his other knee and curling him up in pain. Ashley, the Russian, came strutting up with a bolt action rifle in hand, kicking him in the ribs and staring blankly. His emotionless steps, slow and toying.

    ¡°Catherine wants you alive, preacher. I was ordered to incapacitate. Your little girlfriend is dead. You shouldn¡¯t know that, so your suffering will be great when she arrives to torture you. Blondie seems to have disobeyed orders, but no matter. You die soon enough.¡± He sighed, as Mike laid on his back, both knees soaked in red. Ashley leaned the rifle on his collar bone, hugging it to grab a cigarette and lighter, awaiting his next orders as he turned slightly. Without a sound, an arm wrapped around the gun and his chest, stabbing him with a rainbow-colored butterfly knife in the lung. He dropped to his knees as Mike yanked the gun away and shot him in the back of the knee, sending him screaming in pain as Mike quickly racked the bolt and turned with faith to fire at the second sniper on the roof, sending him tumbling off of it 40 feet to the concrete with a thud. He noticed the gate closing and quickly ran, tossing the rifle into the fence and jamming one side long enough to grab his other guns and dart back inside. Alarms went off, and he stuck the MP5 to Ashley¡¯s head.

    ¡°Shooting to wound gets you killed, dumbass. And I¡¯m so glad you prefer 556 hollowpoints. Carl¡¯s home-made knee pads wouldn¡¯t stop much else, and you''re just predictable as hell, always going for the knees. I call that divine intervention. And I call this¡­wrath.¡± He said, splattering his brains on the concrete.

    ¡°Cathy, you are one dead bitch!¡± Mike barked into the night, limping forward and suppressing the pain of his bruised knees.

    ¡°Not if you don¡¯t live long enough to get to a phone, Mike. You¡¯re locked in a kill box with 30 armed men. You really think you¡¯ll live long enough to give the order? You don¡¯t even have a team, do you? That cab driver was just a cab driver. You¡¯re all alone, Mike. The Butcher is either having fun with tanner or finished already, you have nothing.¡± she replied.

    ¡°I have God on my side, and he told me something you really didn¡¯t want him to say.¡± He said, drawing the Glock with his free hand.

    ¡°And what¡¯s that, mister preacher?¡± She asked, sitting alone in her living room with the phone in hand, as he extended his MP5 towards the cell router.

    ¡°Burn the temple¡­kill them all.¡± He said, shooting the reception out as her phone went silent. Two men in suits wielding submachine guns fanned out the front door as he sprayed the full auto Glock in their direction, cutting them down like weeds to a gardener. He sprayed another burst into the doorway taking apart the next two, and stuck the slide in his teeth to reload the spare clip as his free hand naturally lifted and fired at a shadowy figure ducking behind cover.

    ¡°That¡¯s some Glock ya got there, preachin man. Body armor don¡¯t seem to help much.¡± Yelled farmer John, popping up and firing a barrel of buckshot and ducking back.

    ¡°5.7 steel rounds eats soft armor like tissue paper. I see why you use a shotgun, you Podunk cousin-fucker. Your aim is garbage.¡± He said, spraying the magazine into the wooden crate he was hunkering behind. ¡°You dead farm boy?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Gonna take more than that to get through these crates, holy man.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± He said drawing Gwen from the backpack and putting a 50 caliber round through it, spraying red hillbilly pieces up the side of the building. He tossed the empty Glock over the crate as a middle finger, dual wielding the MP5 and Gwen. Kicking open the door and lighting up about 4 men, he ran to the right for cover. The one that made it, rolled behind the concrete barrier and fired his SMG over the half-wall as cover fire. Mike shouldered Gwen and took 3 spaced out shots about a foot apart until he saw the spray of red. The backpack Killer turned and hunkered down from his high position in the warehouse.

    ¡°Is that a damn 50 cal? When did he get a 50 cal?¡± he asked the walkie-talkie.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, Swift.¡± Sighed Deacon, ¡°The man has a small backpack and whatever was under his coat.¡±

    ¡°Well whatever he pulled out of his divine ass, can go through a concrete wall, don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡± He said moving positions.

    Blondie Sat in the chair of the saferoom, silently laughing to himself, a light spatter of blood on his cheek. He adjusted his sunglasses and lifted his hand to admire the hefty gash in it, switching hands and taking out his pocket knife.

    ¡°Little bit masochistic too, hu?¡± Tanner asked, defensively holding the knife he originally had.¡±

    ¡°No, simply entertained. I underestimated you, little girl. Trying to strangle me with a phone cord with both hands tied. I am impressed."

    ¡°Yea. Now I got your knife and two free hands, and you just got that little shitty knife. Who¡¯s the bitch now?¡±

    ¡°You should have killed me when you could have. Element of surprise was your greatest friend.¡± Blondie sighed.

    ¡°No, he¡¯s out there mowing down all YOUR friends and coming for you. Every scratch you put on me, he¡¯s gonna give you 10 more. If I were you, I¡¯d probably just tell me the door code and cut your losses if I were you. You could hide in here and live if I was out there and safe. Think about the offer.¡±

    ¡°Consider it thought, and ignored.¡± He said, circling the central table as she moved the same speed around it. He changed directions, annoyed at her games and impatiently rushed, climbing the table. She grabbed his tie and dropped herself like dead weight, slamming him down and banging his head off the metal chair, taking his knife and turning him over. He shook off the stunning blow and pulled, noticing his wrist now zip-tied to the table leg, and before he could react, she hopped on his arm, pinning it with her knees and zip-tying the other wrist, hopping down and catching her breath with a giggle.

    ¡°Let me go you little shit.¡± He said, kicking and digging into his wrists.

    ¡°Oh no, see you should have killed me when you had the chance because you just screwed the pooch. God that¡¯s a horrible expression, who does that? Who came up with that saying? Ugh. But yea¡­see I WAS locked in a room with no way in... with you, and now you¡¯re locked in a room with no way in with me. The problem here is that without the pass code we¡¯re kinda trapped together, and I get bored easy. Thankfully, you had all these fun little toys on this tray here to torture me with. I¡¯m gonna have fun with those. She said, grabbing the hammer from the tray and swinging violently to break his elbow with a grunt of agony. She skipped to the other side of the table and steadied her aim for the other elbow, taking a whack at it too.

    ¡°The Passcode is 4437!¡± he yelled.

    ¡°Oh¡­you thought I was torturing you for the code to get out? Yea, no. See there are no guns here, just medical stuff and this thing looks really sexual, but no guns. You hear that thumping? That¡¯s gunfire outside. If I go out there unarmed, I¡¯m gonna die in like 2 seconds. 4437.¡± She repeated, writing it on the door in his blood. ¡°So the fact that the gunfire just keeps going means your guys are dying and Mike is still going. Mike would tell me¡­Tanner!¡± she said in a deep scolding tone. ¡°Don¡¯t you get yourself killed being careless. God protects me and I protect you.¡± She finished. ¡°or something like that. And I have faith in him, not a lot of faith in myself surviving that shitstorm with a little knife. So we have time to kill in here till the shooting stops. You had me in here to torture me and I find that very rude, so¡­ I¡¯m gonna be a rude bitch now. Sorry. You started it. But you fancy shits always make the same mistake. You tie someone up and then just slowly torment them, assuming they won''t get free.¡± She said, taking a whack at his left shin.

    ¡°FUCK!¡± he howled.

    ¡°Yea, see if you break someone¡¯s arms and legs before you torture them, they can¡¯t get away even if you cut the zipties.¡± She said whacking the other shin. ¡°Now what are you gonna do? I could let you loose and all you could do is bite my ankles, and the hammer is a perfectly good warm-up torture method. You gotta plan with paranoia in mind. Otherwise, some victim is gonna bite off the phone cable and strangle you with it, grab your knife and cut herself loose, and now I¡¯m winning. Because ya dumb, son. Ya just dumb. Cocky,¡± She said whacking his hand. ¡°Stupid,¡± whacking the other hand. ¡°Male,¡± She added, giving a hit to the crotch ¡°Ego. Look where all that confidence got you, sport. You still feel powerful? Ya still in the mood for meanness, because I¡¯m having a fucking blast now. You locked yourself in a room with a little serial killer, and then didn¡¯t incapacitate this. That¡¯s on you. And now we get to start having fun.¡± She grinned, picking up the cable cutters. ¡°And I get to do this guilt free because all I gotta do is think¡­hmm. What did he bring these here for, to do to me?¡± she shrugged, scrunching her mouth to one side playfully. ¡°But like¡­ I gotta do penis stuff too. You understand.¡± She said, snipping the cutters together playfully.

    Mike limped his way through the maze of concrete walls and security doors, waiting for one to open so he could blast his way through to the next area. He quickly swung Gwen to his back to reload the mp5, as his hand pulled the 45 up and to the barrel of another gun, Tyler freezing and biting his cigar. He turned his pistol from the sideways aim to an open palmed gesture of surrender.

    ¡°I¡¯m out bro. I didn¡¯t hurt the girl, I¡¯m on over my head. Forgiveness yo. I just work here.¡± He said dropping the gun and backing away. Mike lowered the gun and holstered the pistol, as he sighed and silently thanked his lucky stars. Mike finished reloading the Mp5 and put a round in his face, dropping the magazine from the pistol.

    ¡°Slide was back, Moron. I was out of ammo.¡± He said picking up his gun and making a face of disgust ¡°Seriously? A Kimber?¡± he scoffed, tossing it back down and just taking the bullets to reload the empty mag from his HK. He stepped one foot outside the door and backed immediately into it again as the lead from a big bore pistol peppered him off the wall where it struck. ¡°Harry Layton I presume?¡±

    ¡°You presume well, holy man. What tipped you off?¡± said a cocky voice.

    ¡°44 Magnum, aimed for the head, and you got close. If I hadn¡¯t wobbled my step, that would have been over."

    ¡°Sheer luck only prolongs the inevitable, Mike. You lost. It¡¯s just a matter of how many of us you get before one of us gets you. I don¡¯t believe in your God, Holy man. Luck runs out.¡±

    ¡°You not believing means jack shit to me, frankly.¡± He said, reaching around the corner and emptying the HK, retracting it and shouldering the mp5 silently. The sound of a body flopping to the ground encouraged him to take a peek. ¡°Me believing means everything to me.¡± He said putting one in the head to be sure he wasn¡¯t still alive. He stepped on the body as he made his way down the hall.

    Tanner opened the door and stepped back, ready to strike.

    ¡°Jesus, Blondie. Why didn¡¯t you answer the landline?¡± asked a voice as Tanner stuck the knife in his neck and assisted his fall to the table.

    ¡°That line is out of service, if you¡¯d like to leave a message after the beep¡­too damn bad.¡± She shrugged, grabbing his gun and being annoyed that it was just a pistol.

    "Really? They didn''t give you an Uzi or something? Those cheap bastards." she sighed.

 Chapter 19: God is in the parking lot

    Deacon laid down cover fire and did a mechanically rapid mag change, taking a knee behind the concrete barrier.

    ¡°You still alive, Preacher? Even with that 50 cal, you¡¯re not getting through that security wall. This place is a fortress. You¡¯re gonna need a bigger gun than that!¡± he said, cut short as the door suddenly caved in like a rocket had hit it. He shouldered his AR-8.6 blackout and tactically circled, to see what just happened. The mechanical roar of a truck engine tearing itself apart deafened his senses, the engine coughed and died, half the font end wedged in the door he hopped the hood and aimed in the driver¡¯s seat, noticing just a metal pole jammed on the gas pedal and nobody inside, but a gallon jug of gasoline strapped with road flairs and a brick of Carl''s Grenades and C4. He peered out the back window at Mike casually topping off the drum magazine of an automatic Fostech Shotgun with what he did not yet know were dragon¡¯s breath rounds. Deacon sprinted for cover, rolling and sliding behind a coffin-sized water barrel as the room filled with flames and the silence of eardrums being nearly perforated. He shook off the daze, firing a few rounds as Mike strutted through the flaming door hole, fully opening fire as if he couldn¡¯t run out of ammo. Deacon heard the magazine drop and popped up to get clipped with buckshot and sat back down.

    ¡°I got spares, Deacon. How many you got left?¡± Mike barked, pelting the water barrel to jar his confidence. He checked his vest and looked for blood, realizing the vest caught the lead and suppressing the pain.

    ¡°All this for a hooker?¡± Deacon asked. ¡°Or are you old and just ready to die fighting and looking for an excuse?¡±

    ¡°Just for that, Deacon. I¡¯m gonna kill you with a knife instead. You got a combat knife on you? Let''s cut to the chase and fight like men. One of us is gonna run out of ammo eventually, so fuck the guns, can you handle a half century old holy man blade to blade, or do you need to swing that 8.6 Blackout dick around to feel like the alpha male in the room?¡± he taunted. Deacon checked his clip, empty.

    ¡°Toss the shotgun, and I toss the blackout. We¡¯ll do this like they did in medieval times old man, like how you grew up with.¡±

    ¡°Fair play.¡± He said, tossing the empty shotgun. Deacon tossed the blackout aside and they both stepped out from cover, Deacon confidently holding his K-bar in hand, edge gleaming sharp as Mike stood pointing his butterfly knife like a sword ready to duel. Deacon circled and started his rush in as Mike drew the HK from his back and unloaded 6 shots into his chest, planting him flat on his back.

    ¡°You cheating old prick.¡± He wheezed, feeling like one of them got through the vest under the lower rib. Mike stood over him, foot on the knife and casually reloading the pistol.

    ¡°There¡¯s no cheating or rules anymore, you little shit. You people killed Tanner, I don¡¯t give a damn if I die, I¡¯m gonna inflict as much pain and death as I can in the time before that, and the rules went out the window the moment you brought her here.¡± He said firing a round to the crotch, one in each knee, and one in each elbow, leaving Deacon crippled and practically foaming with pain and hatred. Mike held the gun to his head as Deacon leaned up and pressed his skull to the barrel. ¡°Just kidding. You¡¯ll bleed out like that pretty soon. If you¡¯re still alive after I¡¯m done with the rest, maybe I¡¯ll finish you off. Have fun down there.¡± He said coldly, scooting the knife away from the motionless crippled Deacon on the concrete.

    ¡°The fuck was that?¡± The backpack killer asked, hearing the truck explode and shake the building.

    ¡°That¡¯s Mikey.¡± Yelled Tanner, chambering the gun and listening for her opponent¡¯s position. ¡°He''s the horseman of death, and hell followed with him.¡± She giggled.

    ¡°Your man got artillery? Won''t do much good if he kills you too. Imagine his horror if he killed you leveling the building. The closer you are, the safer I am, honey.¡± He said brushing his red hair behind his heavily pierced ear with his Beretta, one earbud playing fight music and his signature backpack strapped around a beige sweatshirt. He fired a round, bouncing it around the corner to startle her.

    ¡°Nice aim there, Flanders. You learn to shoot at culinary school?¡± she taunted, ready to fight or die trying. Without warning, she went wild card, taking off running and leaping into the air, firing as she sprang unexpectedly high from the hall, tucking her feet as a hollow-point zipped under them. In a haze of slow motion, she landed and kept sprinting, shoulder-checking the wall with a bounce and both dodging and returning fire as the two traded 9mm rounds at point-blank range, hitting air and walls until she was close enough to ram her head into his nose. She winced, the Beretta going off right next to her ear, ringing her like a bell and cutting her pigtail slightly. The pistols clashed like swords, firing dangerously close to legs and feet, as neither of them could get lined up without the other shoving the gun out of flesh alignment.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Both of them two-handedly gripping side-irons, exchanged strikes, locking slides at face level as he smirked and noticed her gun was empty, his smile faded as he noticed the gleam of a knife pointed downward, gripped tightly against the pistol handle between both of her tiny hands. With a sudden downward drop, her hair bobbing upwards, she raked the blade down his wrist and disarmed him. She hopped back and bounced to the beat of her own head music, tossing the blade to her right hand and holding the empty Glock in her left hand as a bunt bashing instrument.

    ¡°You still feel safe, Ned? HowdilyFUCK!¡± she said, head bashing him with the grip ¡°-ing doodily.¡± She finished catching her breath. He drew a fresh full magazine and eyed the gun on the ground, slide open and wet from his bleeding wrist cut, as she circled her prey.

    ¡°You know how many women I¡¯ve killed without a gun?¡± he asked, unzipping the backpack.

    ¡°You know how many men I¡¯ve killed who had one? Oh, that¡¯s just cheating bullshit!¡± She barked, retreating back to the hall as he drew out and snapped into place a folding full sized Ar15, and locked to combat position ready to finish the job. An old, bloody hand flipped the latch open and swing the barrel to the side, holding it out of position as he turned and locked eyes with the preacher.

    ¡°What you gonna do now?¡± he asked. The backpack killer yanked the gun and barely moved it, as an HK suppressor calmly pressed into his abdomen and fired 3 shots, moving up each time as his eyes went glassy, and he threw an elbow into Mike¡¯s face, sending him stumbling back with an empty gun as the folding AR bounced away.

    ¡°PCP is a hell of a drug, preacher.¡± He said breathing heavily and staring him down, the Beretta on the ground equidistant between them and a fresh magazine in his hand. He took one step and like a pendulum of iron, the folding gun whipped downward, swung like a baseball bat by a mid-leaping Tanner, folding it the wrong way over his head, knocking him out cold.

    ¡°Hey Mike. Bout time.¡± She smiled.

    ¡°Are you really alive or am I just hallucinating?¡± he said looking bewildered and overwhelmed.

    ¡°Probably both, you look like shit. Are you drunk or high?¡±

    ¡°Little of both.¡± He wheezed.

    ¡°I thought that shit will kill you? Didn¡¯t you say it blocks the voice of god and lets the inner demons out?¡±

    ¡°I expected to die here anyway, God is waiting outside, this situation called for fewer voices and more inner demons.¡± He said staggering and loading the Beretta as he proceeded around the corner.

    ¡°Mike¡­everyone that way is dead already. You fought your way halfway in, and I fought my way halfway out. We¡¯re done. It¡¯s over.

    ¡°It¡¯s not over, we just reached a checkpoint. Are you injured in any way?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No. I¡¯m great.¡± she smiled.

    ¡°Good, because I¡¯m crashing, both my knees are ready to give out, I definitely have a broken rib and I may throw up.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God.¡± She gasped, bracing him up.

    ¡°No, I said he¡¯s waiting outside in the parking lot. I didn¡¯t need God seeing this.¡± He said motioning her to follow. They rounded the corner, Deacon still struggling to move and pointlessly reaching his fingers for the blackout rifle on the ground. Mike casually picked it up and handed it to Tanner.

    ¡°It¡¯s empty.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°It¡¯s still a really expensive gun, just take it with us. You can drop it if we have to, but I¡¯m taking the shotgun and Gwen back too. Everything is out of ammo except Rachel 2.0...Happy birthday tanner you earned it." He said, sluggishly waving the HK like it weighed 40 pounds, barely able to stand.

    "Okay, Mister Wobbles, let''s get to the truck."

    ¡°Blew the truck up. We¡¯re taking someone else¡¯s truck.¡± He said groggy and leaning on the wall. Tanner picked up the knife from the ground and walked over to Deacon. Jamming it in his skull and heading back on her way.

    ¡°Never leave a live man behind.¡± She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna run into some high tier killer some day with robot legs and guns for arms.¡±

    ¡°You watch too many scifi movies, but I get the idea.¡± he wheezed.

    ¡°So you used up months worth of ammo, broke a vow of soberism and whatever it is when you don¡¯t do¡­whatever you¡¯re high on, came in here ready to die, blew up your truck and killed about 20 people just to rescue me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Originally. I thought you were already dead when I walked in shooting. I was going to just trade my life for yours, but everything went wrong, and I thought they killed you. I did all this just because I wanted to kill everyone that was involved in your death and make them suffer.¡±

    ¡°Fuck, Mike. You keep this up any longer and I might start to think you kinda like me or something.¡± she blushed.

    ¡°I don''t like you. I love you.¡± He shrugged. ¡°God only knows why, but here we are. You¡¯re a pain in the ass, you¡¯ve made my easy neat life complicated and stressful, You almost got me arrested, you got me drinking again, but fuck if I don¡¯t still regret exactly nothing the moment I saw you alive and safe. Here we are.¡± he grinned.

    ¡°Yea about that, can we not tho. Can we not be here? Here seems like a bad place to be, home would be a good alternative, you wanna maybe try being there instead?¡±

    ¡°Oh Catherine has definitely got my place bugged with cameras and probably trapped the doors. I left intending not to go back. I rigged it to blow and burn the evidense, so it;s either already gone or about to be. I have an emergency place we can hit on the way out of town.¡±

    ¡°So I also cost you your home, you''re reloading stuff, your workshop?¡±

    ¡°Workshop is in the van, backups of almost everything. I parked that in the woods before I left. Reloading shit in the van. Home is where the heart is, you can move homes. What¡¯s a house anyway?¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Mike I can¡¯t thank you enough, but I am driving, you can barely stand up. Let¡¯s go find a vehicle somewhere with keys in it.¡±

    ¡°Any idea what Deacon drives?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Matte Black Ford F250 with a topper. Brings it to meetings.¡±

    ¡°Wonder if he¡¯s got any toys in the back.¡± He said holding up the keys.

 Chapter 20: Loose ends

    The van rolled away from the woods in a casual hurry, weighed down a little more than usual as Mike belted in and Tanner drove. His phone rang, and she gave him a troubled look. He picked it up and smiled, silently.

    ¡°Hello Catherine.¡± he grinned.

    ¡°Still alive? I¡¯m impressed. Is Deacon?¡± she asked casually.

    ¡°No he¡¯s not going to be a problem for us. Tanner is perfectly fine too. Everyone else is dead. You believe in anything now?¡±

    ¡°I believe you have a serious problem.¡± she replied coldly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t we all?¡± Mike joked.

    ¡°Mike, be honest with me¡­you don¡¯t have any men outside my house, you never did. That was a bluff. The Molotov brothers don¡¯t exist. There¡¯s no team or they would have hit my safehouse with you. That means you¡¯re either on your way here to die with that stupid whore of yours, or you¡¯re running right now, and all I have to do is chase you down, and you won¡¯t be there waiting at the end of my driveway to shoot me from a mile away when I stand next to my window right now.¡± she confidently said peering out.

    ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right. There''s no team. Now I just killed your entire group, and you aren¡¯t stupid enough to follow me, so I have faith that you will do the right thing and stay your ass in that house, let us drive away. I don¡¯t need an answer, just pray on it.¡± he said, hanging up. Tanner looked at him, worried and confused.

    ¡°So she just keeps on breathing, and we have to sleep at night on faith alone that she won¡¯t hunt us down? That¡¯s not very reassuring. What if she just hires someone new to kill us? She has security guards, she has money, she can build a new team. Will we ever be safe?¡±

    ¡°Do you trust me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I do.¡± She nodded. He smiled and picked up the phone.

    ¡°We¡¯re out. Safe and sound¡± Mike said. ¡°Yes, you have the order. Code Lakeshot is confirmed. Go active.¡± He said waiting patiently.

    Catherine scoffed and stood at her window, staring at the skyline, smirking and sipping a glass of brandy in front of her fireplace. Her devilish mind just pondering the options as all manner of twisted vengeance plots flowed through her head, and then suddenly it hit her. It was not the perfect plan going through her head, but a 7.62 x 54 steel core round from a Dragunov sniper rifle, painting the gray fireplace a lovely dark shade of red to match her brandy. Her corpse collapsed with a subtle plop and the shattering of glass.

    Carl let out a therapeutic sigh of relief. Picking up the phone again.

    ¡°That¡¯s a confirmed kill. So does that mean my sins are forgiven and you''ll never visit my house?¡±

    ¡°Of course, Carl. You did good work. I have no reason to harbor hate in my heart for you, and every reason to forgive. Thank you for your atonement. Enjoy it. You just got promoted to the biggest killer in the area.¡± mike replied.

    ¡°Oh good, and you have no idea how long I¡¯ve wanted to do that. I hated her so much. I¡¯m gonna really do some good work now that I¡¯m self-employed again. Hey, good luck with the move, hope it¡¯s somewhere nice. You two deserve it. And uh, preacher Mike¡­can I give you one bit of advice about Tanner?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°You need to give up that vow of celibacy or whatever you got going. You¡¯re 51, man. Take the shot while the barrel still¡­points forward. You two have something special, for God¡¯s sake don¡¯t wait until your weapon is too rusted to work to take it out for a range day, if you know what I mean. She has the patience of a saint, spoil the little brat already. She¡¯s earned it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that advice to heart, Carl. You have fun being your own boss. It was good doing business with you.¡± Mike said smiling and putting the phone down next to him.

    ¡°Was that Carl?¡± she asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Catherine won¡¯t be making any calls about us, or anyone. Ever. Looks like she caught something pretty serious, like lead poisoning. Life is short, old age is a real bitch, and one day it just hits you between the eyes, and you never expect it. Real shame.¡±

    Mike rolled the creaky door up on a storage unit in the middle of nowhere, Tanner blinking in disbelief as she stared at the old UHAUL truck.

    ¡°So when you said a backup home, you mean a backup mobile home¡­inside a moving van.¡± she sighed.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°Well, when I set this up I didn¡¯t plan to have anyone else with me, so it¡¯s gonna be cramped and mostly necessities for hunting. Narrow bunk bed, tiny bathroom, no real kitchen.¡±

    ¡°Like I can cook anyway. Who gets the bed?¡± she asked, biting her lip.

    ¡°We do. The bad news is there¡¯s no couch.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s the first good bad news I¡¯ve heard all week. Shame we have to leave the bike behind.¡± She said noticing a dark blue crotch-rocket gathering dust.

    ¡°Bike fits in the top hatch, folds out into a ramp. Easy way to store a bike that would be hard for someone to find without a search warrant.¡±

    ¡°A Kawasaki Ninja bike, and a Ford 350 Moving truck. That¡¯s a weird combo, Mike and I never would have guessed you for either."

    ¡°Nobody would take me for a crotch-rocket guy, that¡¯s the point. But it allows mobility and less attention than a van going to every crime scene.¡±

    ¡°So are you a Ford guy, or is there a misleading reason for that?¡± she eyebrowed.

    ¡°It was cheap, and big enough to hold the bike.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­kinda expecting more to that.¡± She sighed, a little disappointed.

    ¡°Carl has orders to torch the house, plenty of bodies at the safehouse roughly my size to leave behind. It should just look like a mass killing spree ending with me. We do have one stop before making a run for it.¡± he yawned. "Turn here."

    Mike turned the keys and opened the door to the old gun shop, stepping in and turning on the first set of lights as he stopped dead in his tracks to the sound of a pump shotgun racking in the dark.

    ¡°Hello Mike.¡± Said old Frank¡¯s voice.

    ¡°This is hard to explain, but I have someone with me, and you don¡¯t wanna fire that thing with her near me.¡± Mike said, considering reaching for the HK.

    ¡°Mike I¡¯ve noticed someone has been dicking around in my shop, things moved around, figured it was you since most of the time it happened after I left you in the range to lock up. Never stole anything of value, always paid me more than what you took, and you don¡¯t seem like the kinda guy to rob an old man. So what exactly is this?¡±

    ¡°Frank I don¡¯t have time or the words to explain that fully. Do you believe God works in mysterious ways?¡±

    ¡°Sure do.¡± Frank nodded.

    ¡°You believe the laws and criminal justice system are inadequate and failing us?¡±

    ¡°Hard to argue there too.¡± Frank sighed.

    ¡°Well, some bad people wanted me dead, God didn¡¯t seem to agree with that outcome, and I have to leave the state, take my work elsewhere where it¡¯s needed. The problem is that I wasn¡¯t fully prepared to leave yet, and I can¡¯t leave a paper trail. I know you are a legit FFL dealer but if you have any guns off the books, I would pay cash and over value.¡± He said slowly placing the MP5 on the table next to him. ¡°Even trade.¡±

    ¡°Mike, you¡¯ve been good to the community, you¡¯ve been good to me, and you¡¯ve helped out my family when we needed it, so I can''t imagine whatever the hell you¡¯re doing illegally is wrong, and if you don¡¯t tell me what it is, I won¡¯t be able to make that judgment. So follow me to the back, and we¡¯ll see what we can do here.¡± Frank said, waddling to the back room. ¡°Now I don¡¯t exactly have the best personal collection, and I can¡¯t give you anything registered to me, which narrows your options down to gun show parking lot deals and things I collected at random in case of troubling times. I think this qualifies. I got 3 guns. Sig MPX, and a par of 22 magnum Keltecs. Not exactly anything you wanna take into a warzone.¡±

    ¡°How does a fully automatic, suppressed genuine HK MP5 sound as a trade?¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re losing about 18 grand, Mike that¡¯s a terrible deal.¡± he huffed.

    ¡°It¡¯s not about the money, it¡¯s about the results. I can work with those, but a stolen MP5 is a red flag. You¡¯d be getting a gun used in a crime, that would be a great gun to keep locked in a safe for an apocalypse, high risk to sell, and a terrible gun to have out in the open. I¡¯d be getting 3 clean guns, and I assume ammo for them.¡±

    ¡°Mike I¡¯m 92, I¡¯ll be dead before they put me in jail for it, but that¡¯s a lot of money for my family. They¡¯re not gonna bother prosecuting a guy in retirement home who sold an illegal gun he found in a ditch and didn¡¯t report. You can have all the ammo and supplies you want, and these, but I tell ya, the Keltecs gum up and jam when they aren¡¯t clean and oiled often, and I found out after I bought these for a steal that it don¡¯t matter what brand you buy, rimfire ammo just isn¡¯t reliable enough to bet your life on it, hence the Sig I got for the safe. Parking lot special, thousand bucks cash. Fantastic little gun, just not worth the sale price of an MP5.¡±

    ¡°Everything is fixable with the right effort and ingenuity.¡± Mike said with a smile and a handshake, making his way to do some reloading gear shopping.

    The moving van rolled down the highway, the two killers smiling and warming up with a cup of hot trucker coffee to get through an all-night drive. Tanner smiled and playfully pawed his arm. He looked back and just shook his head.

    ¡°Lord forgive me, I¡¯m bound to do something sinful with this poor woman. So¡­where do you wanna go?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± she shrugged. ¡°We got the whole family here, you, me, the good Lord, Gwen and Rachel, and a regular gunsmith camper. Wherever we go, we got each other. Are there any states that wouldn¡¯t have cabins for rent, plumbing stores, and violent criminals that glow in the dark?¡±

    ¡°No, I suppose most or all of them have what we need. How about Texas? Gun laws are pretty loose there.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°Amen to that.¡± Tanner smiled.

    Frank heard the door open again and sighed, getting read to un-close his shop again instead of going home.

    ¡°Mike, you forgetful chump, what else do you need from me? I would like to actually go home tonight.¡± He said prying himself up from the chair and staring at the figure in the dark. ¡°Where¡¯s the girl?¡± he asked. The figure replied with a series of 3 muffled shots, locking the door behind it. Frank sat down in his chair with a heavy plop, looking at the blood on his hand and noticing Mike seemed oddly taller.

    ¡°You¡¯re not Mike¡­ who are you and what do you want?¡± he coughed.

    ¡°I¡¯m the boatman. It¡¯s time to take you home, Frank.¡± Said a muffled voice in the dark, the last bullet landing center of the forehead. ¡°Goodbye old man.¡± He sighed. The light turned off, footsteps in the dark made their way around the store as the gentle sound of blood dripping on the concrete floor accented it like the marching of a funeral procession. Cicada roaring lightly in the background played his soul to the other side, as the dripping slowed down, and finally stopped; Silently.

 Holyman Hitman 2 (A beast of a different Caliber) Chapter 1: New Blood

    <div>

    The sound of popular radio filled the air of the bar, as a pair of eyes glared at a phone screen, scrolling and looking annoyed. The dark purple eye shadow narrowed as her hazel eyes scrunched and peered up coldly, locking with a man at the end of the table. The audacity of him to sit down was unbearable.

    ¡°You have staring problem, asshole?¡± she snipped, carrying a strange Russian accent and a hint of a lisp hiding behind it.

    ¡°Just hard to ignore something beautiful.¡± He smirked, his well trimmed beard and expensive suit lined up intentionally precise.

    ¡°Have you tried, perhaps you try harder.¡± She muttered

    ¡°Lovely accent, Russian?¡±

    ¡°No, Gambia. Can you not tell from my tan?¡± said the ghostly pale girl sarcastically, through the rogue strand of dark blue hair, unkempt and hastily held up with a rose gold hair pin, her deadpan expression returning to the phone.

    ¡°Dry sense of humor, but I like that. Dark, cynical, but clever. You here alone or with friends? Boyfriend.¡± he asked.

    ¡°I have a man, he just doesn¡¯t know it yet. These things unfortunately take some time. Patience is not my best quality.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°Give the phone a rest, sweetheart. If he¡¯s ignoring you, he¡¯s an idiot. If he stood you up, he¡¯s an idiot and an asshole. I¡¯m not saying I¡¯m some prize, but I¡¯m better than some prick who can¡¯t appreciate something that rare and interesting.¡± He continued. She sat the phone down, harshly. Staring at him like she was debating something.

    ¡°So just, fuck him, to hell with it, take the hint and whatever I can get instead¡­like you, I suppose?¡± she asked aggressively sarcastic.

    ¡°Well, you make me seem like a regular catch with that line. But I¡¯m not without my skills. I may not be mister right, but I¡¯m mister right now.¡± He grinned. She smiled slightly at the line, or rather the pathetic nature of it and the irony behind her considerations.

    ¡°You know what? You may be right. You are not the man I am looking for, but you are¡­better than nothing. Get up.¡± She ordered. He looked surprised. ¡°What are you waiting for, directions? Up is vertical, it means to stand. I came here to be alone, you have interrupted that and offered an alternative, I no longer wish to be here. What, have you never succeeded in this before? Did you expect the relationship, we stay at the bar and chit-chat.¡± She said with an awkward bite to her annunciation.

    ¡°Most girls wanna talk and get to know each other after the line works, or they just proceed with their fuck off verdict. I¡¯ve never had a fuck off turn to let¡¯s get out of here that fast, and skip right over the conversation part.¡± he admitted.

    ¡°I told you I have a man, he is not here, I cannot seem to find him, this will take... time. You seem to think you have something to offer while I wait, and I agree, so are you full of shit or just very slow at standing?¡± she asked. He stood up and grinned, adjusting his suit.

    He slammed into the brick wall of the back alley, aggressively stopping as she stepped closer and out of street view. Before he could react, she grabbed a handful of hair and kissed him, biting his lip with a grunt as he pushed her back slightly, now unsure if he was as interested as he was before. The look in her eye was hostile, downright hungry, but not in the way he hoped for. Dabbing his bleeding lip and noticing the throb of his skull where it bounced off the building¡¯s exterior, he had a moment of second thoughts.

    ¡°Not even going to fight back? Pity. Maybe you were all talk and no reward, and a waste of my time.¡± She said, turning to leave, crossing her arms with an attitude.

    ¡°Wait¡­ I just wasn¡¯t expecting so much aggression. I¡¯ll deal with it. You got a safe word?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Da.¡± She nodded, stepping back to him and grabbing his belt, pulling him in closer and kissing him again, muffling his grunts as she buried the barrel of a pistol into his chest and fired off 3 shots, the body acting as a sort of muffler. He dropped to his knees, in shock and silence, staring up with cold, lifeless eyes. ¡°But it is not necessary.¡± She finished, letting him slump and bleed as she tucked the gun into her frilly black dress. She strutted down the alley, playfully wobbling heel-to-toe like walking a thin ledge in her high heels, as she got her phone out to check again. She lit a cigarette and turned to the open night streets, lit brightly with the glow of a big city not far down the road, the afterglow of the outskirts and edges guiding her way. She heard the screams of someone, presumably who just found a body dead in the alley, and she barely even twitched a muscle to turn and look, swiping her phone with her black manicured nails. She nodded discreetly, and a black car with tinted windows stopped, the door opening for her.

    She sat down inside with a lazy plop, as if bored and slightly drunk, her dress poofing up a little, and her hair pin shifting.

    ¡°Given up so soon?¡± asked a voice, the same Russian accent, minus the lisp, from a man in a suit, in the seat beside her. Leathery skin, buzzed hair and scruffy beard stubble. She sighed and gathered her thoughts.

    ¡°This is not the place, I want to go back to the hotel.¡± She yawned, taking out a small tube of white powder and daintily tapping out a bump on her plaster white hand, hoovering it with a nonchalant swipe of her nose. She took the pistol out and tossed it into the front passenger seat. ¡°I need a fresh one. The trigger is gritty. There was an annoyance.¡± She sighed, as another small pistol was handed back to her by the driver. A 9mm Gyurza.

    ¡°Some American got a bit too touchy-feely?¡± the passenger chuckled.

    ¡°Unfortunately no. He interrupted my business for something he was unwilling to back up. Wasted my time, ruined my focus. We try casino below the hotel down the street. I was told Blues bar and Casino. After that, I give up for the night.¡± She scowled.

    ¡°Do not be so depressed. We have been here 2 days. It¡¯s Houston. There is a lot of place to be.¡± said the passenger

    ¡°Have you gotten my guns into the city yet, Yuri?¡± she asked him.

    ¡°Apologies, Nadja. We have run into complications and delays.¡± He nervously admitted.

    ¡°So, what is this shit?¡± she said, waving the pistol around.

    ¡°You wanted armor piercing, this is what we have.¡± He insisted.

    ¡°I wanted MY guns, not substitutes. How hard is it to bribe border police? Security? Do they not like money?¡± she huffed, looking angry and pointing the gun at his side, firing a round and startling the driver as Yuri clutched his ribs and groaned, checking for blood. ¡°Armor piercing like hell, you useless shit.¡± She said, proving her point.

    ¡°This is Texas, Heart of gun America. You want American guns, we can buy them here. It is not a problem.¡± he assured.

    ¡°They will not be the same as what I wanted. I have very custom guns, Apparently in a crate not in America. So you better hope they have something better, or the next shot will be somewhere you don¡¯t have a vest.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡± He nodded, rubbing his side and his bruised rib.

    A police officer with a baseball cap and glasses squinted at the dead body in the alley, early morning light making the scene more visible as he chewed on a toothpick.

    ¡°Looks like a date gone bad.¡± He nodded.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°What makes you think that?¡± asked the heavier set cop, hunkering down to get a look.

    ¡°Gun was pressed against the victim, no real sign of struggle such as bruised knuckles or body blows. Wasn¡¯t a robbery, guy has a nice suit, watch, full wallet. Perp didn¡¯t take anything, just shot our victim in the ribs and ran away. Bartender says he was flirting with some young goth chick, and she did not look thrilled about it. Then he looked back and they were both gone. Same guy ends up dead in the alley right after. I¡¯m thinking she bailed, he followed her and got fresh, and she panicked, he grabbed her, and she pulled a 9mm, snapped off a few rounds and hauled ass.¡±

    ¡°Workin girl?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think so. Bartender said she was minding her own business, nursing a few fruity drinks over about 2 hours, staring at her phone, didn¡¯t approach any guys, or act very social. He said she had a weird accent, wasn¡¯t sure what kind. Probably just a foreign girl traveling to the US, maybe meeting a guy, green card situation, student abroad just having a bad time and got lost, but she was armed and ready. Doesn¡¯t look like much of a fight happened. Maybe the guy creeped her out, so she had the gun ready when he grabbed her. I got guys running the bullets right now. My guess is she didn¡¯t get the gun legally, so there may not be any tracing it. Trunk and cash special?¡± heavy cop asked.

    ¡°The gun better be legal. Even if this was self-defense.¡± The thin cop said, as another man approached with a tablet and a confident mustached smirk.

    ¡°We got security video. No sound, but the picture is descent. That¡¯s our little miss 9mm slipping the doorman money to get in. The doorman said she looked annoyed when he asked for her ID, and she just said in that accent: Do I look like a child? And tried to scoot past him. He blocked her, and she squeezed past, flicked some money at him as she went in.¡± Mustache said.

    ¡°Hell of a good door man, lets a skinny girl shove past because she slipped him a 20?¡±

    ¡°A 20, my ass. Get this¡­4 hundred dollar bills, crisp and new. She¡¯s no student or hooker." Mustache replied.

    ¡°WhO0ooo, damn. Whatever she does for a living pays well. I lose 400 at the casino and I feel sick as a dog. This girl just has that in her pocket next to a 9mm and doesn¡¯t even bat an eye? There went your green card scam theory. You think some foreign girl with no ID looking for a sugar daddy drops 4 bills to get into a bar, has 2 drinks and plays on her phone for 2 hours?¡± asked the heavier cop. "She up for some illegal shit."

    ¡°Well fuck, I got nothing then.¡± Thin cop sighed. ¡°She had to have been meeting someone important who stood her up. Lotta placed don¡¯t even card, she easily looks 21, no ID, determined to get into THIS place, and just waits, gives up after a few hours. Romeo here probably just picked the wrong girl to mess with, got handsy, didn¡¯t take no for an answer, and she said NO louder, with a handgun, about 3 times, point-blank. We¡¯re never gonna find this girl. With no ID, in the town this big, even with blue hair, tits like that, she could disappear. Any chance the AI facial recognition gets a hit?¡±

    ¡°Yea right. You gotta be in a database for it to know what to look for. Illegal immigrants don¡¯t exactly show up at the DMV for photos.¡± The heavier one chuckled.

    ¡°Well, bite my ass, we got a hit¡­and it just got really interesting.¡±

    ¡°Good interesting or bad interesting?¡±

    ¡°Really bad interesting, like we are strongly fucked on this case, kinda interesting.¡± thin cop cap said, handing over the tablet.¡±

    ¡°You gotta be shittin me.¡± He replied.

    ¡°Are you shitting with me?¡± the blue-haired 9mm princess asked aggressively, leaning on a table covered in guns. The noise gun show crowd moving behind her.

    ¡°Honey, That¡¯s not how this works. You gotta have ID, we run you through the system, you gotta have citizenship, not just cash to buy a gun here.¡± Said the old bearded vendor as people walked loudly around her and fanned out around the booth. She took a deep breath through her nose and took out a significant number of hundreds, laying it on the table.

    ¡°Is that enough?¡± she asked.

    ¡°To go to prison for? Shit no. Honey, we¡¯re an FFL dealer. This is a legitimate business, Crosley Custom Guns doesn¡¯t sell IDs, so you can keep flashing those bills, and it might get you mugged in the parking lot, but it won¡¯t get you one of my guns. Any store or vendor in town will tell you the same thing. Please don¡¯t lean on the table.¡± He added. She grabbed one of the business cards and squinted at him.

    ¡°And you are Crosley?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Nope. I¡¯m Daryl, just like the name tag says. I just work for the store. Now you come back with a driver''s license and social security card, and I¡¯ll be tickled pink and shitless to take your money, honey. Otherwise, with just cash, I can sell you clips, grips, holsters, and T-shirts.¡± he smiled shittily.

    She stood in the parking lot with her phone out and an annoyed simmer.

    ¡°Yes, Da-ryl. Of Crosley Custom Guns.¡± She said trying to pronounce it correctly and missing it by a hair. A rather large man in sunglasses and all black strutted up to her and blocked her sunlight like he had an eclipse appointment. She squinted up at his gum-chewing grin. ¡°Just get information, send it to me. Hello? Large stranger. Do you have a problem?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Looks like you got one, luckily I may have a solution. See that blue truck up there by the pole. That¡¯s my truck.¡±

    ¡°Congratulations on owning a vehicle, I will not be getting into it.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Well, you might like what¡¯s left in there if you still got that wad of cash.¡± He said discreetly.

    ¡°I doubt you have the guns I want, blue truck man.¡± She scoffed.

    ¡°Not at the moment. I don¡¯t leave guns in my truck, tempts people to break my window and steal them. I just bought myself a nice little piece in there, I could go back in and buy some more if I had more money, and then go for a walk and leave them in my truck. Now for the inconvenience fee and the cost of the window it¡¯s not gonna be cheap, but you don¡¯t look cheap, and you really wanted that gun. Pretty girl all alone definitely needs a gun. There are some real creeps out there. I¡¯m over here talking about committing a crime, and I¡¯m one of the nicer ones.¡± He joked. She stepped very close and lifted her baggy sweatshirt to show the 9mm pistol tucked in her jeans.

    ¡°I have one already. And if you steal my money and run, I will kill you and get it back, and then I will have your gun too. Would you still like to go back in and do some shopping?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not fuckin around, are ya? I think that¡¯s badass. Whatever you want, just double the price, add 200 for a window, and you got it.¡± he nodded, looking around for other listeners.

    If you are police, this is a very big mistake for you. If not, then I will make you a list and I will be very clear with you. I want this list EXACT and no substitutes or close enoughs. If you cannot get something, look harder, or do not get it, and leave that money in the truck under the guns. Can you follow instructions well? Can you do math accurately? Because I can, and just because I have plenty of cash to spare, does not mean I wish to spare it without knowing it. This can be a very good day for you or a very bad one, depending on how well you follow this agreement. Understand?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Oh, absolutely.¡± he chuckled.

    ¡°Very good. I may hire you again if this goes well. My current bodyguard detail is lacking in a few positions. Someone may be getting terminated and replaced very soon.¡±

    ¡°Lady I¡¯ll buy you guns, and I¡¯d buy you a drink, but I don¡¯t wanna know your name or see you again after this. I¡¯ll text you when the truck is full and locked, and I¡¯ll go get a bite to eat for about 30 minutes. The illegal part is all yours." he finished.

    A black car with tinted windows rolled to a stop as the driver smiled and popped the drunk. The thump of plastic cases echoed through the vehicle before she closed it. Nadja got in and sat down, giving Yuri with the sore ribs a death glare.

    ¡°Get out, you¡¯re fucking fired.¡± She demanded.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand, is someone going to pick me up?¡± he asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s your problem. Get a cab. If I have to do everything myself, I don¡¯t need you. What do you get paid to do?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Whatever you ask me to do.¡± He replied.

    ¡°Well, you failed twice now, so the third time you fail, I¡¯ll kill you.¡± She said coldly. ¡°So, are you capable of doing 1 thing I say correctly?¡±

    ¡°Anything you want. I will do it.¡± Yuri nodded.

    ¡°Good. Get out of the car, that is your last order, and then you are no longer working for me. Go find a way back home. If you cannot do that, it is the third time you have failed.¡± She said, giving him a silent count down, tapping her nails on her pistol in a distinctly 2 click and pause pattern, as he briskly unhooked his seatbelt and exited the car. The driver chuckled slightly.

    ¡°Nadja relax, he is inexperienced with your ways and stupid. He does not mean disrespect, he is simply¡­new to the job. You tend to require an adjustment period, he is just slower than some of your favorites back home. But he travels, and he tries.¡±

    ¡°Well, add him to the list with Daryl from Crosley and take care of it.¡±

    ¡°Nadja¡­did you not get what you wanted?¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Da.¡± She shrugged, rolling her eyes and trying not to smile, thinking about her new toys.

    ¡°Then it is okay. I will have someone pick up Yuri and bring him back. Let him worry a bit and learn his lesson. You already shot him.¡±

    ¡°I do not trust him. He cannot listen.¡± She said, opening the case next to her and biting her lip with a smile. ¡°But my mood is getting better now.¡± She said, picking up her phone. ¡°Yuri, stay where you are. You can come back. You have one last failure before I fire you, and then if you fuck up or speak to the cops, THEN I will kill you.¡± She said, hanging up and waiting patiently, scrolling on her phone while he made his way back. The door opened, and a nervous Yuri sat down and closed it.

    ¡°I am sorry.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°Do not apologize, just do better. You see these boxes?¡± she asked, holding up a few boxes of 5.7mm ammo. One red and black shiny labeled, and the other one a plain white box ominously sealed with a sticker reading ¡°for governmental entities or exportation only¡±.

    ¡°Yes.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°Load this gun I purchased with these. All 7 clips. I want every other bullet in every clip alternated between these two boxes, with this one as the last round showing. If you do it wrong, do it again. You will be doing this for a while. I grade on correctness, not speed, so take the time to do it right, and I will not ask you to fix it. Mistakes will be fixed as you go, and before you are finished and presenting your work. This is pass or fail, you should start now.¡± She said, as he sighed with relief, slowly and carefully laying out the boxes.

 Chapter 2: Reloaded

    The hiss of a gas burner and a deep orange glow illuminated the desert outside the glow of a big city. A U-Haul truck gleamed silver and white, as the trailer behind it held the strange furnace, roaring with hellfire and casting the silhouette of a man on the ground. The shadow covered most of a wooden box, filled with sand. The figure approached the furnace; his face now lit to reveal Michael Finn with a strangely satisfied look, as he moved the molten metal crucible to the sand mold and poured in the glowing liquid. His glasses glimmered like the pits of hell as he finished, waiting for it to cool down and shutting off the furnace.

    Light footsteps approached, Tanner investigating his work.

    ¡°You and your fancy sacred metals.¡± She said almost sarcastically, but in a playful bite.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so impatient. This is one of yours. The last casting didn¡¯t go well, I have a good feeling about this one.¡±

    ¡°Remind me why we bought cheap guns to begin with for way too much money, and now you¡¯re remaking the plastic handles in some weird metal? We could have just bought good guns already made of metal.¡±

    ¡°Because we want the appearance of cheap guns, ones I can make better than anything we could buy, and without the paperwork and suspicion. These Keltec guns have 2 problems, one we can fix and one that becomes a benefit. They¡¯re half plastic, and they¡¯re both 22 magnums. I felt God telling me to buy these off old Frank, and now I realize why. I had a vision, and the math checks out. See these guns have a very badly designed failure point here, this knockout pin for disassembly. They¡¯re necessary for cleaning and maintenance, but they¡¯re anchored in the plastic frame, which means anything much more powerful than a 22 magnum would cause an¡­unwanted rapid disassembly during use. But the plastic frames come in 2 halves. Re-casting the plastic in my fancy metal you love so much, would allow the gun to have MUCH higher strength. With new springs and a thicker barrel, they will handle the new 7mm round I invented. I¡¯m very confident of that."

    ¡°What¡¯s so special about this round, that we can''t just get a gun IN something close?¡± she asked, inquisitively and annoyed that she actually kinda cared about the technical shit now.

    ¡°Because there is no caliber this good. It¡¯s perfect. The 7mm Apex. With the magnesium alloy all-propellant case, it should generate up to the power of a 357 magnum, or cycle with the power of a 9mm. BUT, as you can see here, these little rounds are the same diameter as a 22 magnum rim. No gun holds more ammo than a 22, and a 22 magnum is just a long 22 with more balls. Unfortunately, rimfire rounds are not reliable, and it¡¯s not enough balls to compete with a 9mm, let alone a 357 magnum. The magnesium propellant shells use the same mercury fulminate primer as any reliable centerfire round, and the 7mm apex fits in a standard 22 magnum magazine, and with a modified barrel, bored out and thicker than the factory ones, will make this plastic 22 plinker an absolute beastly little gun. Hold that in your hand.¡± He said, handing her the tiny pistol.

    ¡°It¡¯s actually kinda dainty, but damn it feel heavy enough to be a full-sized pistol.¡± she nodded.

    ¡°It¡¯s meant to be concealable and strong, not light. Believe me with the kick it has, especially without the suppressor, in a plastic lightweight gun it would start to feel very snappy.¡± He said, prying the lightly golden pewter-colored casting from the sand. ¡°And it holds 26 rounds in the gun with a flush mag. 34 if you use the extended mag."

    ¡°Holy shit!¡± Tanner exclaimed, ¡°Okay, I¡¯m seeing the overall idea now. Sorry, I had my doubts when I saw you sawing a plastic gun grip in half and using superglue and baking soda to stick it back together. That had me concerned.¡±

    ¡°Well Keltec doesn¡¯t exactly make a compact version of the PMR30, which is stupid, so I had to shorten the grip and frame. The superglue and baking soda method just held the plastic together long enough to make a sand mold for casting it in metal. Trust me, there¡¯s no superglue holding the final product together. Not with these rounds rocking 880 foot-pounds of energy. That will still kick a good bit even with the springs and the buffer, so use the suppressor any time you use the gun.¡±

    ¡°Then why does it even detach if it barely takes up any space and fits the holster?¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s a red flag to have a suppressor you didn¡¯t register with your ID and fingerprints. We may have fake ID, but I didn¡¯t keep spare fingers. So the suppressor fits into the holster and stays there unless you push this tab down. If you ever get questioned, it¡¯s a non-suppressed pistol with some legal custom mods, registered in my name. If you think you need to use the gun, push the tab, guns comes out with integral suppressor. I have 2 different kinds of ammo that through that suppressor should sound like snapping your fingers. I recommend the 228 grain Full Metal Jacket. Brass jacketed, tungsten powder filled, at about the power of a 40 Smith and Wesson that should blow open on impact and embed your victim with enough frangible metal to drop anyone that isn¡¯t wearing body armor or full of coke and adrenaline.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, don¡¯t mind of I do.¡± She said, delicately taking the tiny bullet and displaying it like a wine bottle, popping the imaginary cork and smelling it. ¡°228 grain, that¡¯s a really good year.¡± She whispered. ¡°Pairs great with red meat and murder.¡± She joked. ¡°So what happens if they ARE wearing armor?¡±

    ¡°Then you use the spare magazine, 44 grain steel core brass solid, 3,000 feet per second, and almost double the recoil. They will NOT be silent.¡±

    ¡°So discreet mistress for softies, and for hard targets, the screamer¡­got it.¡± she winked.

    ¡°It¡¯s amazing how pornographic you can word something as mechanical as a bullet.¡±

    ¡°Trust me, you and bullets together gets pornographic for some of us anyway. And with this sexy little spacegun you made me in sparkly silver, it¡¯s amazing I still have clothes on.¡± She gasped dramatically.

    ¡°You know, I honestly think when I die it¡¯s not going to be from an enemy, it¡¯s just gonna be a combination of my old heart, and a beautiful woman''s sex drive.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Is that complaining or bragging?¡±

    ¡°Definitely not the worst way to go, especially if you don¡¯t fear death. I¡¯ve actually had a dream about you murdering me, and with the enemies I¡¯ve made and my line of work, to be honest if you did murder me, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d even be mad at you. I know you¡¯d make it painless and quick.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t even joke about that. If I ever kill you, it¡¯s gonna be the heart attack during sex, and accidental, and you better not die on top of me.¡±

    ¡°Use the dolly for body disposal like I showed you. Lift with your knees.¡±

    ¡°Mike, for real... Just don¡¯t die on me, please. We JUST got to Texas and started the new operation. This is basically the honeymoon. That¡¯s some bullshit negativity. If you can handle 20 guys in a warehouse trying to kill you, you can handle one me, just trying to have fun and actively NOT trying to kill you.¡± She scolded.

    The light ¡°ding¡± of a door opening didn¡¯t even make the heavy set store owner of Roofus Tex Guns and Ammo Depot look up from his screen, scrolling the newest toys and deals. He scratched his red beard and adjusted his cowboy hat to see who was dropping in so late.

    ¡°Closing up in 15 minutes, grab what you want quick or come back tomorrow.¡± Said the store owner, looking up at Mike and Tanner. ¡°Never mind, we just closed early. Let me flip the sign.¡± He said, doing just that, and heading back to the counter, waving them behind it and to the back room.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Nice to see you, Roofus.¡± Mike smiled.

    ¡°Oh every time I see you it¡¯s a mixed bag of emotions, Mike. You always have some weird shit to ask for, but you pay well and I still owe you. I feel like you¡¯re gonna bring that up if I ever object to any requests.¡± he squinted.

    ¡°Absolutely, but I still pay well.¡± He smirked, laying down a wad of cash as Roofus unplugged the security camera and got out the case from under the counter.

    ¡°Exactly what you asked for, Keltec PMR, custom serial number, don¡¯t wanna know why, but you can check it, additional custom high grade stainless barrel, that costs more than the gun and I won¡¯t ask why either. Extra mags, 60 rounders, 32, and these custom 25 round short mags were a bitch to get. I had to have a guy 3d print them. You know they won¡¯t fit the gun, right? They¡¯re too short for the gun.¡±

    ¡°I am aware.¡± Mike nodded.

    ¡°Yea, enough said. Just confirming that before you buy em. Whatever floats your boat. I also got all the high capacity Glock mags you wanted, 9mm, 45ACP, 22. Didn¡¯t take you for a Glock guy, honestly. You never bring one or even look at them. See you brought the MPX case, gonna do some target practice with the little lady?¡±

    ¡°That would be great, private as usual.¡± Mike half asked and half instructed.

    ¡°Mike, you do realize I can sell you ammo. You never buy ammo, and I can match any price you get online, but I gotta ask off the record. Are you testing silencers in there or something? Because half the time I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re shooting, and half the time it sounds like you brought a cannon. I¡¯ve never even seen a 45acp conversion kit for a Sig MPX until you had me order one, That is the LOUDEST damn 45 I have ever heard in my life, and then you reload, and it¡¯s like you turned the volume knob down, sometimes to nothing. Now, I have never in my life had anyone bring their own bullet trap and reloads, let alone every time. I¡¯m just letting ya know I can sell you new ammo or reloading FMJs for 45s dirt cheap. You don¡¯t have to bring your lead home and bring your own ammo back to shoot.¡± He puzzled.

    ¡°Reloading is a hobby of mine. I have insomnia, keeps me busy, I like experimenting with getting the velocity JUST right. And it¡¯s not a suppressor. It¡¯s a recoil compensator. I know the stamp laws. If this was running a suppressor, why would it be LOUDER than normal? I run hot loads, i shoot all lead free copper, environmentally friendly, but they kick like hell and I got that bad shoulder. No laws saying I can¡¯t design recoil compensators. For some reason, some of them just really make it louder. The quiet ones are tanners. They¡¯re just a primer and plastic bullet for practice. Reuseable, no gunpowder. She doesn¡¯t like shooting with ear protection, she prefers music when she shoots.¡± Mike lied complexly

    ¡°Whatever you say, Mike. I¡¯m not making accusations, and I don¡¯t give a shit what you do, I didn¡¯t see or hear a damn thing, Suppressors are legal in Texas though. Hell anything made in Texas that stays in Texas is fair game. I got boxes of them and paperwork I could sell you right now, I just can¡¯t report them missing or skip the paperwork. I¡¯m trying to stay as legal as possible here. That¡¯s all. And that serial number favor is a federal crime, so if you get caught carrying both those guns with the same serial number, it¡¯s illegal as hell. Even half the legal mods you got are suspicious if the cops really looked into it.¡±

    ¡°So is killing someone, Roofus.¡± mike said coldly.

    ¡°Mike you don¡¯t have to remind me. We don¡¯t talk about that. We don¡¯t talk about it, which is why I keep doing you these favors off the books and with some¡­missing paperwork." Roofus huffed.

    ¡°I¡¯m just making sure YOU understand the legality of things. I¡¯m not a cop anymore, not legally. Haven¡¯t been for years, even before I moved. Private investigator work is legally gray even for former police, and I have to have a certain amount of discretion in my side business. You of all people understand discretion. Things happen, the laws are sketchy, and good people doing nothing wrong can go to jail if people talk. Relax, Roofus. I¡¯m not saying shit, you¡¯re not saying shit. Nobody is saying shit. I¡¯m a handyman, who likes privacy and being safe, and you¡¯re a salesman who needed a favor. That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate it, man. You just be safe. Lotta weirdos out there wouldn¡¯t hesitate to get violent with a private investigator snoopin around their business. Kinda why I recommended getting the girl a little 9mm. 22 magnums just don¡¯t cut it for self-defense, and ammo reliability is hit-and-miss, literally.¡±

    ¡°Why do you think I do my own reloads? Trust me. She¡¯s safer than you think, even when I¡¯m not around. Hell, she¡¯s probably more dangerous than I am.¡± He chuckled, enjoying the irony that he may not be joking.

    Tanner walked back to the shooter¡¯s box after setting up the bullet catcher, admiring the new inventory.

    ¡°You still got him over a barrel?¡± she smirked.

    ¡°Perpetually.¡± Mike said, loading up the new magazines with his oddly fat 7mm silvery rounds.

    ¡°You¡¯re never going to tell him are you?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Absolutely not. We needed connections and a gun store owner was top priority, he was the best for the position, so we did what was necessary, we schmoozed and visited a few times, we got chummy and became regulars, and when he needed to dispose of a body, we assisted.¡±

    ¡°So you don¡¯t feel bad that you set up a random guy for a robbery just so he owes us favors? He killed a guy. Some of us are used to that, but Roofus isn¡¯t exactly black-ops. Poor guy might have PTSD.¡± She shrugged.

    ¡°Anyone who knows us could have PTSD. He¡¯s a gun fanatic, Texas born ultra-Conservative. You think he feels bad for shooting one illegal Mexican guy breaking into his store pointing a weapon? Especially when he happened to be a 45-year-old sex offender dating a 13-year-old girl?¡±

    ¡°So he really fell for the whole bit? Private investigator moves to town, ex-cop, buddies it up for 2 weeks and then suddenly some suspicious guy starts casing the place and wouldn¡¯t you know it, Private Dick Mikey, is on the job for a friend. Guy tries to rob a GUN STORE while you happen to be investigating and in the indoor range?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not the smartest guy, he¡¯s just the right guy. He knows people, he has connections, we needed a reason for him to owe us something big, and we already had the perfect pervert to kill for it. We just had to give the guy a grand in cash and a gun that didn¡¯t work, tell him the store owner was out of town and his daughter was working the shop, and we would split the robbery money and drive the getaway van if he did the job. The fact that a sex offender took a thousand dollars and a loaded gun he assumed was functional and loaded, in order to rob a lone 20-year-old with a stranger, was reason enough to kill him even if he didn¡¯t glow in the thermals. Half these guns store owners are HOPING some asshole like that tries to rob them so they¡¯d get to shoot someone. You wanted to kill him anyway.¡±

    ¡°I wanted to kill him in a fun way, not trick a store owner into killing him. I¡¯m just saying it¡¯s been a while, I wanna have some fun. Technically, the only one of us here who¡¯s killed someone since we moved to Texas, is fucking Roofus.¡±

    ¡°Look, I¡¯ll let you have some fun soon. I just wanted a body disposal site, a gun dealer on our side, knowingly or not, a safe and secure killroom for you, and some new gear so we don¡¯t fit the old profiles. That¡¯s all. I¡¯m playing this smart and safe.¡±

    ¡°I know, I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just¡­nobody even knows who we are or were, except Carl, who¡¯s on the same team, even if I owe him a beatdown, and we got more dirt on him than he does us. I think we¡¯re safe." she scoffed.

    The Dimly candle-lit church had a different feel to it, as the chairs circled a table with a bowl in the middle. 15 pieces of folded paper sat in the bowl, 16 chairs around the table. Carl sat in the nicest one, peering out over his glasses at the surrounding group.

    ¡°Glad to see everyone made it here.¡± Carl nodded.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t give us much choice.¡± Said a woman, tapping her foot nervously.

    ¡°Sure I did. I just informed you that I know who you are, and have enough evidence to get you all arrested. I didn¡¯t say you were required to attend, I suggested attending. This is not blackmail, folks, nobody is getting arrested or ratted out. It¡¯s an awakening, an opportunity, a brotherhood. This used to be a group of rogue killers run by one bitch that was bought and paid for by the top politicians in the state. Now, ding-dong the bitch is dead, I put a full metal jacket through her sinus cavity, and now I work for nobody but myself. If you wanna keep killing alone, go ahead, leave. I won¡¯t stop you myself, but you¡¯ll get caught eventually and have no backup, or some random victim with a vendetta will shoot you in the back some day. I couldn¡¯t care less, as long as enough of you are smart enough to see the benefit of a team dynamic and having each other¡¯s backs. I only need 8 people, beyond that is just bonus. So if anyone would like to tell me to fuck off, because you can take care of yourself, that¡¯s fine. Leave now. If you stay, you¡¯re one of us, and we start making our own rules.¡± He said as 6 people got up and left, heading to the exit and out the door.

    ¡°Excellent. Now the rest of you who are smart enough to stay, please take turns drawing a name from the bowl. Everyone¡¯s name is in there, including those who just left. Say the name outloud, and if your name is called, stand up, next person draws a name. If nobody stands up, you have a name of someone who walked away, and your first assignment is to go into the parking lot, follow them home, and kill them. I have guns under the table if needed. This organization starts with a bang and ends with no witnesses, let¡¯s see who can hang with the big boys.¡±

    ¡°What if I just¡­refuse?¡± asked one of the cocky young men. Carl drew his Skorpion 9mm and put a round in his forehead.

    ¡°I always have to lead the damn revolution, don¡¯t I? You all know too much about too many people if you showed up tonight, so you¡¯re either an ally or a problem. Choose wisely, draw a fucking name. Whoever impresses me most gets to go on a little adventure with me. I got a hunt that needs backup. You¡¯re all hunters. The most dangerous animal I know is out there and ready to be taken down.¡± Carl sighed.

    ¡°What are we hunting?¡± smirked one of the thugs.

    ¡°A Holyman.¡± He said darkly.

 Chapter 3: Tandem paths

    Nadja strolled up to the counter of the hardware store, placing down a handful of random things.

    ¡°Find everything alright, miss?¡± asked the friendly average Joe working the counter.

    ¡°Da. Can you tell me¡­does this paint stick well to metal?¡± she asked, lightly drumming her right index and middle finger on the cap, in a strange nearly simultaneous pattern, ever so slightly apart. He noticed her highly manicured nails in glossy black, with a blue line down the middle, all of them slightly rounded off to a teardrop point except those two, battered and rounded to the fingertip.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never used the metallic rose gold before, but that brand is one of the best. It sticks to nearly everything. You get things done yourself, don¡¯t you?¡± he asked with a friendly smile.

    ¡°And what leads you to this conclusion?¡± she asked, looking annoyed.

    ¡°Pink paint, painter¡¯s tape, metal shelf Pilaster strip, hacksaw, JB-weld quick set, grip tape, and tin snips. You got one hell of a DIY closet project going and judging by the nails, you¡¯d rather do the work yourself than hire someone. My wife always has her nails done, those look expensive but impractical for contracting work. You¡¯re winging it, not afraid to scuff up a little, and you want things done your way, or you¡¯d just spend a little money and have a handyman do it. You got the money. I¡¯m guessing the handyman didn¡¯t see your vision, and disappointed your expectations, so you said: screw it, I¡¯ll do this myself.¡± He finished.

    ¡°You¡¯re very good. My father usually hires the¡­help. They have been nothing but a failure and a waste of money. I cannot explain to them the simplest thing, so I take care of it myself.¡± She said with a cold honesty, drumming those two short nails almost unconsciously on the lid in a rapid 1,2 motion. "I have the perfect handyman in mind, he has just not taken the job yet."

    ¡°Bass player?¡± he asked as she looked confused.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked.

    ¡°That two finger technique. You got that almost mechanical. I¡¯m a drummer in a little garage band, I know rhythmic patterns when I see it. The two short nails, the timing, not to mention the Goth look and the hoodie. I¡¯m guessing technical death metal.¡± He asked. She blinked and looked lost.

    ¡°Something like that. Technical death does describe it well. Something I just learned myself. How much for the¡­closet project.¡± She asked.

    ¡°$71.88¡± he said cheerfully. ¡°Inflation, right?¡±

    ¡°Keep the change.¡± She said, laying down a hundred.

    ¡°Generous, but we can¡¯t accept that. We¡¯re not allowed to take tips. We can donate it to one of the charity buckets. We have one for the children¡¯s hospital and one for the local police dinner."

    ¡°Children¡¯s hospital¡­all of it.¡± she said with a hint of force to that order, leaving abruptly.

    Mike poured a metal tumbler full of cold brew from the tiny fridge, sitting down at his work station. Tanner gave him a hug as she passed through.

    ¡°I¡¯m borrowing the bike, I gotta get some fresh air and get out of your hair while you do your thing. I know you do this alone.¡± She smiled.

    ¡°Some things you just do better solo. I¡¯ll teach you the process some day, but for now we just need ammo, and this is a very technical process. Takes longer to explain than it does to do it, and even that isn¡¯t quick.¡± He sighed. She leaned down and kissed his head.

    ¡°Plus your stuffy old music kinda blows and I know you, it helps you work. I¡¯ll give you a few hours, do some scenic riding, and maybe pick up a few things on the way back. Have fun.¡± She said, stepping out of the U-haul box.

    ¡°I said fuck off.¡± Nadja grumbled as her driver backed away and left her hotel room, locking the door and leaving her to work station. She took a sip from the paper cup of drive-through coffee, setting it on the bed stand, a row of weapons and cases covering the bed, and the wooden dresser table covered in perfectly arranged tools. She cracked her knuckles and put in her earbuds, playing the soothing symphony of a full orchestra, classic Russian opera. She clamped down one of the new pistols, a Ruger 5.7mm in full black, and carefully stared at the silver marker line on it, lining up the tiny little hacksaw and gently making shallow scrapes on the trigger guard.

    Mike pressed play on the CD player hanging from the shelf, smooth blues echoing out as he flipped the CNC lathe on, pressed go on the program marked ¡°7mmx11 casings¡± and watched the cutter move, peeling chips off the shiny magnesium rod behind the blast-proof polycarb window. He grabbed one of the pre-made alloy casings from a plastic screw sorting container with paper labels on each space. Mike placed the casing on the digital scale checking the notebook numbers and lining up each round that passed, setting a few in a cardboard box marked ¡°out of spec¡± and moved on.

    Nadja held up a small piece of the steel pilaster strip, carefully rounding the snipped edges with a nail file as she felt it for smoothness. She pinched it in slightly with a pair of pliers, to narrow the channel a touch more, forming a sort of trigger-covering channel. She placed it on the pistol¡¯s trigger to ensure a lightly snug fit, capping it like a molar and lengthening the trigger by about 60 percent. The trigger cap stuck down well past the now missing bottom of the plastic trigger guard. She nodded with self-approval, stirring the glue vigorously and dabbing it with a toothpick into the metal trigger-extender before squeezing it on with pliers and carefully scraping away the excess glue. She sat back, gently placing it on the bed stand with her coffee, and proceeding to clamp down the much more menacing MPA Defender 5.7mm pistol, grabbing the hacksaw again to cut off the guard.

    ¡°Mike chucked-up a small brass bullet into a small hand drill bolted to the bench like a little drill press. Spinning it up and gently filing, he adjusted the point from a blunt nub left by the lathe cutoff tool, into a sharp point, and then switched to some rolled up sandpaper to polish the end to a mirror shine. He placed it on the scale and set it in a row with the others in the plastic box marked ¡°armor piercing¡±

    Nadja placed the zigzag shaped piece of bent and crimped pilaster strip on the Ruger¡¯s grip, forming a new trigger guard wide enough to clear the new extended trigger, hand bending it with a gnashed expression and then checking it again to make sure it was perfect, before vigorously stirring the glue¡¯s 2 part mix, already lined up on the paper plate. She dabbed the guard with some of the glue, sticking it in place and grabbing one of the several pre-cut pieces of grip tape, to secure it on to the handle and frame. She eyeball-checked for straightness and gently placed it on the stand with the sights down like tripod legs, balancing it upside-down as the glue cured.

    Mike, opened the door of the CNC lathe, picking out the bits of scrap from the bottom and lightly brushing the chips off the cutting tool. He placed the brass nub into a plastic bowl of similar ones, and scooped the crumbs into a plastic bag with a label reading ¡°casing scraps¡± and sat it in a plastic container with other bags labeled ¡°magnesium¡±, ¡°Alloy copper¡±, ¡°lead¡±, and ¡°aluminum¡± respectfully. He opened a whipped cr¨¨me container full of empty 22 hornet ammunition shells that had been poured full of lead and marked ¡°Hollow point stubs¡± and placed another one in the jaws of the machine, closing the door and running it again. He took one of the freshly home-made jacketed lead hollowpoints and placed it in a hand made die, pulling down the lever and rounding the nose, dropping it into another container, and repeating the process.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Nadja carefully trimmed the painter¡¯s tape with scissors, placing it on the Ruger¡¯s exposed barrel in the middle of the slide with gold tweezers from her nail kit, gently pressing it down and placing it on a baking tray with some other parts already covered in the green tape. She walked outside on the hotel balcony, placing the tray down on the glass table, covered in cardboard from the gun show boxes. She stood, smoking a cigarette and shaking the spray-paint can aggressively, and then gently whisping streaks of flat rose gold metallic paint on the tape covered parts. Trying not to get any runs or tear a nail through the blue medical gloves on her hands and end up with paint on them. She flipped on the hair dryer and began carefully warming the freshly painted parts.

    Mike began wiping down each one of the bullets and casings with isopropyl alcohol, black butchers disposable gloves on his hands to keep the oil off the rounds. He wiped down the hand press a second time letting it dry before pressing one of the bullets into the solid magnesium explosive casings, checking it with wiped down calipers and then dipping the end of the round with gloss black nail polish before placing it in the row of armor piercing rounds. He closed the cap on the bottle of alcohol, savoring the familiar smell that reminded him a little too much of high proof vodka.

    Nadja took a swig from her bottle of Russian vodka, dousing some of it on a paper towel to clean off the tiny bits of overspray on the freshly painted metal, blowing on it to dry, as she touched up the scrapes on the handle with flat black nail polish. She made a smirk of satisfaction and nodded to herself, applying more strips of the black grip tape to cover the rough areas where the new home-made guard met the manufactured polymer handle, holding it out in her hand as if drawing to fire, the slide and barrel still outside with the magazine, pink paint curing in the open air. Holding the empty grip, she made a playful pew sound.

    Mike stared intensely as he tapped the tiniest bit of silvery gray powder into a funnel and down into one of the empty 22 hornet brass cases, until the scale numbers matched his notebook. He carefully, with tweezers, placed the brass turned cap into the case, moving it to the hand-press and crimping it down hard, adding it to the bowl marked ¡°Tungsten powder, 240 grain subsonic pistol/carbine¡± and leaned back for a smoke break, lighting one up and turning on the vent fan as he placed the bottle of tungsten powder back in the drawer. He sighed with relief, lining up a row of shorter magnesium casings out, and placing one of the newly crimped bullets in front of each, changing the press die to the one for pressing in the bullets to the cases. He took a moment to enjoy his cigarette as the blues solo started and Mike just savored it, looking at his creations, taking it in and feeling the obsessive compulsive relief of flawless work done, and he returned to his work.

    Nadja racked the slide on her new pistol, enlarged trigger and guard, accents of Champaign pink colored paint, the strange familiarity of it as she placed two fingers on the trigger and pointed it out across the city landscape, savoring the nostalgic success of her completed masterpiece. She closed her eyes and drifted into the violin solo in the earbuds, slowly pulling the trigger and dry-firing the pistol, cocking it and repeating the action several times to get a feel for it, satisfied with her adjustments to the longer trigger and the lightened trigger-pull, that with the slightest pressure delivered the joyful click of the firing pin falling. She racked it again several times, alternating fingers to pull the trigger.

    Mike smiled at the Styrofoam bullet holders, each row lined up like a spectrum of options, 45 cased 7mm, hollowpoints, subsonic, armor piercing; 9mm cased 7mm, hollow, subsonic, armor piercing, and the same predictable pattern in the straight cased 7x7mm, all gleaming in a hand sanded silvery white casing with polished and waxed brass and copper tips, obsessively lined up with the table edge for Tanner to see. He returned to the Fostec Shotgun in the gun vise, a green cloth preventing scratches, and the dust cover removed. He gave the anodized receiver a final oil polish before gently guiding it back in its place.

    Nadja sat cross-legged on the bed, aggressively sawing at the barrel of her Saiga shotgun, trying to get the barrel as short as possible before running into something important. 2 piles of ammo jingled behind her, dumped out loosely with their cardboard boxes ripped open, settling and silencing as she freed about ten inches of barrel she didn¡¯t want, tossing it in the trash and hitting the end with her nail file enough to remove the burr. She sighed, grinning and starting to tape off everything she wanted to remain factory black, and leaving what would be Champaign pink after a coat of spraypaint. She brushed the metal shavings off her frilly black skirt and onto the bed, not intending to sleep in that one anyway. She looked at her arsenal of toys and picked up her phone, looking devilishly pleased as she typed a reply to a recent text.

    Mike turned his head as a message popped up on his laptop screen. He heard the sound of the Bike rolling up, and shortly after, the jingle of keys opening the back door.

    ¡°I¡¯m home. Wow, you really got busy in here. Autism much?¡± she joked, scooting one bullet slightly out of alignment to playfully annoy him a little. He smiled at her, scooting it back.

    ¡°I saw that. Have a good ride?¡± he asked. ¡°I assume you wore a helmet.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­that depends. Do you know where the helmet is right now?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Then no, I did not remember to wear a helmet. Sorry.¡± She said, peaking at his screen and looking suspicious. ¡°Mike, I know we¡¯re not like married here, but are you on a dating site?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m working an angle for a potential kill.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please tell me I get to do it.¡±

    ¡°We can do it together, I''ll let you take the shot, it¡¯ll be fun. I tracked a phone I thought belonged to a suspect in a local poisoning case, This gal apparently likes to take bartending jobs and put poison in the drinks, slow acting. She just never shows up for work the next day and people die. Just random people, having a drink. Not that I approve of drinking, but it¡¯s hardly worth killing over. 14 deaths, 4 serious hospitalizations. The police closed the case, calling it a suicide, but that¡¯s odd since I keep getting replies to her phone texts. For a dead girl, she¡¯s very chatty and wants to meet me at a bar later. Kinda sounds like she faked her death, doesn''t it?¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re going separate, and I¡¯m backup.¡± Tanner said disappointed.

    ¡°Only until I confirm it¡¯s her, get her in thermals, and we leave the bar. You can make the kill if you want.¡±

    ¡°Aww, you¡¯re the best, Mike. I appreciate the hell out of it. I need a little action, it¡¯s been SOOOOO long since I killed anyone. Can I stab her or do we have to use guns?¡± she asked playfully, hopping.

    ¡°I¡¯m thinking robbery, stab to the heart. Police will be pretty confused when they find out this girl is the Punchbowl Poisoner. Funny how she ends up dead, again.¡±

    ¡°Punchbowl Poisoner? Ugh, who names these killers? The police chief¡¯s kids? So where are we going?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Some place called Neon Lust." he cringed.

    ¡°Strip club? Hell yea. Theater and a kill? Hell of a date night. I¡¯m definitely down for some bare tits and a nice jab.¡±

    ¡°We did that Wednesday.¡± He smirked. Tanner gasped, shocked and holding back the urge to smile for too long, breaking into a grin and silently glaring at him.

    ¡°Sir?! Did you just make a sex joke? Michael Spencer Finn, you have become a bona fide pervert. I¡¯m contagious, that¡¯s adorable. I¡¯m so proud of you.¡± She giggled. ¡°Here I walk in thinking you¡¯re cheating on me with some E-hoe sidepiece, and you¡¯re planning a romantic tandem killing, and making fuck-puns. You¡¯re evolving, Mister Finn.¡± She said. "You¡¯re becoming something fierce"

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just finally comfortable enough around someone to be the real me.¡± He said as another message popped up. Tanner¡¯s eyes got a bit wider as she opened it.

    ¡°Oh, well we better not keep miss punchbowl waiting, she¡¯s getting horny as shit. Is that the first picture she¡¯s sent you?¡±

    ¡°No, but it¡¯s the first one like that. Pretty sure that¡¯s flirting, even at my age.¡± he said looking heated.

    ¡°That¡¯s a tramp-stamp bathroom-mirror shot of a star and 2 bullets. With tribal nonsense around it. Really? Aim for the stars? That¡¯s not even a clever caption to a thirst trap pic, I bet she got that tattoo above her full moon literally just to say that to guys. What a hoebag. And the black and white filter? Ugh, so overused.¡±

    Nadja stared in a dreamlike state, at her phone, placing it down on the bathroom counter next to her other phone, one that looked more fitting to her style than the bland white one with the faint tint of blood stained red on the corners of the case. She leaned over the bathroom vanity, touching up her eye shadow. Her shorts rode down, revealing more of the tattoo, the pair of bullets surrounding the red and gold Russian star, and the pair of AK47s below them, with the Russian word for ¡°princess¡± bannering it together with thorned vines and little pink roses.

    ¡°Enjoy the target, Michael. I hope your aim is as good as it used to be.¡± She whispered to herself in the mirror, giving it a pair of kisses and leaving black lip prints, drawing in lipstick to add the nose cavity and the teeth of the skull behind. A little taunt to the maids.

 Chapter 4: The dance of death

    Mike sighed, flashing a hundred to the bouncer, who discreetly changed his mind about letting a 51-year-old man into the hip new joint.

    ¡°Told you the bow tie and James Bond vibe looked outdated and cheap. It¡¯s a high roller place.¡± Tanner said into his earpiece.

    ¡°Well, age means nothing if you have the currency. Sadly, that applies to most things. Should we thank God for blessing the horse races last week?¡± he smiled.

    ¡°Okay fine.¡± She grumbled. ¡°So where is this psychopathic little bartender? I don¡¯t see a blonde anywhere back there except the cowgirl with the fake knockers that looks nothing like the pictures.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. She just said she got off work at 12, and to be early. I couldn¡¯t miss her if I aimed for the stars.¡± He muttered, feeling oddly drawn to the stage on the far right. Something in his soul tugged, almost painfully, guiding him that direction and away from the bar. The Blue haired stripper on the pole, piercing the crowd with her gaze, staring at him directly and unblinking. She spun and did a subtle head nudge as if to summon him. He looked around and noticed nobody else making gestures back. It was clearly meant for him.

    ¡°Mike, if you wanna just hang out at a strip club, it¡¯s a free country.¡± Tanner informed. ¡°But please don¡¯t tell me this was all bullshit to watch some ass. I like ass. You could have just said, let¡¯s go watch some stripper ass. It¡¯s not as fun as a kill, but it¡¯s not¡­like a BAD time. Do not tease me with killing, though.¡± She joked.

    ¡°I think I found our little shining star.¡± He said, noticing the tattoo on her very exposed blue-haired stripper''s backside, a few ten dollar bills tucked around her hips.

    ¡°I thought she was a bartender?¡± tanner asked.

    ¡°Apparently she changed up her look and her angle to avoid the radar. The question is...WHO''S radar. Cops or us? Something feels off.¡±

    ¡°Shit, one of your weird spiritual hunches? You want me to get the MPX and wait outside?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No, I want you in the building. Go to the bathroom and switch to the high capacity magazine and heavy rounds. She¡¯s got a friend somewhere. I can just feel it. Boyfriend, bodyguard, Hired help. I don¡¯t know. I just have a weird feeling someone dangerous is watching me.¡± He said approaching the show. The men around the stage seemed just as fixated as Mike, except feeling different emotions and the urge to reach for entirely different things. Nadja dropped down low and winked at him, crawling to his spot.

    ¡°Hello Mister Smith.¡± She said with a subtle serpentine hiss.

    ¡°I was expecting you at a table, not on the stage.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you would not show up if I told you what I¡¯d be doing here. Maybe you understand, maybe you do not. But you are here now, and you like what you see?¡± she teased.

    ¡°Little elaborate for tips and customers.¡± He said, sitting down, lifting a 20 between his fingers as she batted her eyes.

    ¡°That¡¯s not why I lured you in. For tips and twenties, and that¡¯s not how you give them out anyway." She said, pulling her thong lace from her hip as a place to deposit the 20.

    ¡°I came here for a date, not a show.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°You will get the date, after the show. I told you ten minutes early, I have 2 songs left. Everything is as planned, mister Smith. Just enjoy the show, and a few songs, and then we have something to drink, and that table conversation you wanted. After that¡­who knows. Relax. I am not working you, I am just working. I wanted you to see what you were up against before we got too far.¡± she hinted.

    ¡°Testing me before the date, making money during the test, getting the other guys jealous and seeing how I respond to my date being a stripper, all in two short songs. Clever. Efficient.¡±

    ¡°Clever and efficient is how I operate, so¡­what do you really do for a living? Construction work? Hardly.¡± She smirked skeptically.

    ¡°Well, we all fudge the truth a little. I own a very successful little tool shop. I got a younger partner doing the young work. I didn¡¯t want that to influence your opinion of me. Money has a way of giving people motives.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you ironic thing. Money I have, I really do not need the¡­what do you call it here? Sugar Daddy?¡± she hissed.

    ¡°Young stripper, Older man like me. Can¡¯t be too safe. Either of us. People are after what they want, and it¡¯s not always good for the other party involved. So what do you want, Miss Jackie?¡± he asked, with the same sarcastic tone she used every time she said ¡°smith¡±, knowing it was a fake name.

    ¡°I want you. Like i said in the profile. I like you. I have everything else I want. I do not have you.¡± She taunted, less flirting and more threatening.

    ¡°I must be better looking than I realize.¡± He said with a jolly smile, adjusting his glasses as tanner cut in over the earpiece.

    ¡°You are, but not to everyone. No offense Mike, but this is way too forward. She¡¯s onto you, not into you. She thinks you¡¯re a cop or something. Don¡¯t drink anything you didn¡¯t open from a bottle yourself. Over.¡± She said discreetly.

    ¡°Do not sell yourself so short. Many women like older men. You do have a certain¡­spirit to you.¡± She whispered borderline demonically. The hairs on his neck stood up as she stared through his soul, and the music almost disappeared. Like some form of trance or hypnosis overtaking him, something mysterious and haunting.

    ¡°That is a lovely accent you have. I had no idea you were from so far out of town. Eastern Russia?¡± he asked.

    ¡°You¡¯re a very gifted listener, aren¡¯t you?¡± She asked. ¡°But unfortunately, finding the right man requires more than just open ears and flattery. They say you never know if something is real until it is trialed by fire? Is that the saying? Burning the imperfections out of the gold, trial and tribulations?¡± she smirked.

    ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as the religious type.¡± Mike noted.

    ¡°Which religion? There are so many to follow, who is to say which one is right? I have you know I have absolute faith in what I believe in. The only question is¡­do ours match or conflict?¡± she asked as the song ended, and she stood up, taking a turn and winking at the crowd. She exited stage and gave a head nod towards the bar. He made his way over to wait, continue the conversation with more clothing and less distraction.

    ¡°So that was just fucking weird.¡± Tanner said.

    ¡°Yea, she does seem to have a unique aura to her.¡± Mike said, looking entranced and concerned, ¡°Tanner, do you trust me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Obviously. Why? I don¡¯t like the way you asked that.¡± she muttered.

    ¡°Because I¡¯m taking out the earpiece and I want you to wait for a sign. You¡¯ll know what to do. That¡¯s my trust in you.¡±

    ¡°Wait¡­why? Are you having a vision or hearing god right now? Mike, talk to me¡­hello? Mike? Are you shitting fucking me right now? Are you actually shitting my fuck?¡± she said into the earpiece.

    Mike sat at the bar, alone, with an unbuttoned jacket and his new pistol off safety and chambered. A slightly more clothed Nadja approached from behind the bar. Sliding him a beer.

    ¡°I can¡¯t. Bottled water is fine.¡± He insisted.

    ¡°Disappointing. I was going to make you something special.¡± She teased.

    ¡°Maybe later, not here. I have to drive. I never drink if I have to drive.¡± He covered.

    ¡°So now that we¡¯re alone, you can drop the code¡­ Michael.¡± She said, as his blood ran cold.

    ¡°So you¡¯re not here for a date then?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh, on the contrary. You¡¯re here to kill me, but I¡¯m not here to kill you. I¡¯m here to convince you of a better option. The girl you wanted, who poisoned those people, is already dead. Occupational hazard.¡± She said, laying down the stained phone. ¡°You and I are not so different. I am not the enemy you came here for, I can be something far better. But you on the other hand¡­who are you really? Holy man, Hitman, or just old Handyman?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all a little of a lot of things.¡± He said, listening for the seal to break on the water bottle before drinking. ¡°So you¡¯re not the killer I came here for, but you¡¯re definitely a killer. How do you know me?¡±

    ¡°I must confess, Father, I have been sinning and stalking you a little. In a... friendly manner, of course, and not with the crosshairs on your back. You have a reputation that many know, and few believe, and even fewer connect to your face or name.¡± She toyed.

    ¡°And HOW did you connect the dots exactly?¡± he asked without revealing anything new.

    ¡°I have a lot of money and I get what I want. I hear rumors and am usually disappointed in the truth, but one day I heard a voice with no one around me. I listened, curious at my sanity of course, and it told me a great many interesting things. You hear them too. How did you know that you should obey?¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ¡°I have faith, it¡¯s never been wrong before, and it¡¯s explained things that can''t be explained. So when logic and reason can¡¯t explain something, then something beyond that must be at work.¡±

    ¡°Da, that proves that you are not crazy and that the voice is something real¡­but how do you know the thing speaking is the right god?¡± she asked strangely, taking a shot and peering into his soul. ¡°The spirit you listen to may be real, but there may be more than one voice speaking, to different people, to different souls. Telling truths from different perspectives with different intentions. What if, Michael, you have been listening to the wrong one, or just one option of many?¡± She grinned, panting the idea in his mind.

    ¡°It¡¯s never steered me wrong before.¡± he diverted.

    ¡°You are a good student, Michael, why would any teacher not protect his best student? That does not define the nature of the teacher, only your obedience and your favored place.¡±

    ¡°Who are you¡­really?¡± he asked.

    ¡°A student as well. One of similar faith and skill. Something perhaps of a different caliber. One of maybe a different teacher. Must there be only one?¡± she asked, sliding him a shot of vodka, ice and a twist of lime like he always liked.

    ¡°Tempting little devil, aren¡¯t you?¡± he said, feeling uncomfortable.

    ¡°Now Michael, do you really want to kill me, or are you just following orders to kill someone I already killed? That would make us friends, no? Or do I have to give you something nice for that?¡± she asked, doing another shot.

    ¡°I¡¯m taken, but I¡¯m flattered.¡± he denied.

    ¡°Owned¡­not taken. Something taken can be taken back. Something owned must be freed. But I offer the truth, not the flesh¡­for now. You are familiar with Judas, but do you know his face? Copper hair, mustache, American flag tattoo?¡± she toyed.

    ¡°Carl. How is he involved?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°He has already taken the 30 pieces of lead for your death.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°30 pieces of silver. Your lore is off.¡±

    ¡°Is it? What does the magazine in his Skorpion machine pistol hold¡­30 silver bullets? Nyet, your Judas carries lead and copper this time, but your hands and feet are safe from holes, your head and back, not so much. Do you wish to die for your voice when mine offers a solution?¡± she asked.

    ¡°How can I trust you? I don¡¯t even know your name, and you know so much about me?¡±

    ¡°Faith¡­preacher. But before you make any decisions, I would like to know who you really are. Call me a doubting little devil.¡± She said, biting her tongue.

    ¡°You know my name, my job, my old friends and apparently my enemies. What more do you want to know?¡± he asked.

    ¡°If I too follow merely an illusion of faith or something real. You are Mike, the Holyman. You are the man who walked away from everything, but you have so many names, and many whispered like you were a spirit yourself. Shots no man could make, men who should have killed you, left dead on the ground as you lived. What part of Mike is real and what is just myth, what is lie and what is truth, and what part of the truth is just blind luck and excuses to believe, rather than divine assistance. Much like you, I want to believe in the god before me, but I see a man, and my faith in you is¡­unsure. I can ask anything, and you could simply lie like a snake, or stretch what is real. Even if you believe everything you say, your truth and mine may not coexist. So I have come here to find out from you, Molotov brother, Shooter of the lake, Butcher of the bunker, Father of destruction¡­who should I have faith in?¡± she asked, more telling than wanting a reply.

    ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t matter. We all have chances to believe what we want or deny it. We all have trails by fire, and our faith shaken from time to time. If you killed the girl who poisoned all those people, then we¡¯re playing the same game, and we¡¯ll cross paths again. I definitely believe that. You could pray to whatever you do that to, or believe me, like I can tell you want to so badly. Or you could watch and stalk me, and see what happens when Carl shows up and the bullets begin flying. The proof is often in the bullets. You just have to wait and see, I guess.¡±

    ¡°No¡­I don¡¯t. Last chance to take a free shot¡­¡± she said, nudging the shot glass, more metaphor than offer. The lights dimming for the next dancer.

    ¡°I said I don¡¯t drink.¡± His whispered.

    ¡°MMmmmm, that¡¯s not what I meant.¡± She whispered, kicking it back and reached for the bottle, suddenly reaching lower and drawing a gun-shaped blur in black and Champaign pink, as Mike drew his own. Their wrists collided as they both ducked out of the way of the shots. Mike heard the strange gallop of 3 shots, dropping for cover and expecting Carl to end his life on the ground. The crowd scattered, tanner rushing for the bar and drawing her pistol. Mike spotted the thinnest patch of civilians and made a hunkered run for it, hoping to draw the fire to the least populated area before returning fire. A woman passing between him and the bar shifted and turned, a spray of blood through her, misting him as he heard the strange echo of 2 shots again, debating on if it was an actual echo or two shooters. He grabbed the woman and pulled her behind the concrete pillar leading to the second balcony floor of the club. He turned her to see that she was already dying, twitching her last few moments with 2 red marks on her back. There were two shooters, but from the same location.

    Tanner fired 3 patiently spaced shots, aiming for the blue hair behind the counter and hitting the bottles. Nadja turned her gaze up and locked eyes with her, before she could react, pointing the pistol. Tanner ducked behind the wall, and the drywall next to her head exploded outward. She noticed the exit marks in the wall, realizing her cover was about useless, and there were two holes.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± she asked. ¡°Mike, do we have two targets?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I think so. They¡¯re synchronizing is insane. One of them is the girl, the other might be Carl. If you spot Carl, kill him.¡± He replied.

    ¡°Ugh, fuckin CARL, really? That little shit. I knew he was not cool.¡± She insisted, popping out to get another shot and immediately being pulled back by her reflexes as 2 more shots cut through the wall like paper, 2 inches apart. ¡°Mike what is going on? Where the fuck is he even at?¡± she asked. ¡°I can¡¯t shoot at Thing One if Thing Two is pelting me with lead. I assume he doesn¡¯t have the matching blue hair, or I would have spotted him.¡±

    ¡°I dunno. I have no idea where he is, but the shots re from the same direction. Just stay behind cover where it¡¯s safe.¡±

    ¡°Safe shit, they got armor piercing rounds. I¡¯m hiding behind, basically cardboard.¡± Tanner barked.

    ¡°Fuck¡­Well, here goes the faith part¡­¡± he sighed, read to kill or die for Tanner. He turned and drew Rachel from his side, aiming the new 7mm PMR at the bar and letting Rachel float by faith to wherever she felt, hoping to spot another shooter. His focus split, like slow motion, half on the blue hair and half on pure instinct. He sprinted past the pole and heard two distinct shots, this time seeing two distinct flashes from the same gun as one round hit the steel pole and the other round hit his chest, rolling him to the ground and behind an overturned table, thankfully made of more sturdy stone composite material than most, as two more rounds hit almost in unison, ripping off the corner off of it.

    ¡°Tanner. It¡¯s not two shooters. It¡¯s just her.¡± He said wheezing and grabbing at his chest, checking for blood.

    ¡°What? How? Mike are you shot? You sound hurt.¡± She barked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not hit.¡± He said, double checking to be sure, confused as to what happened. ¡°Just dropped a little hard. I think she has some kind of burst-fire setting on that gun.¡±

    ¡°Oh great. She¡¯s got a machine gun and we got semi autos. That¡¯s fantastic.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a pistol with a 2 round burst, not a damn belt-fed. She¡¯s just gonna run out twice as fast and have less recoil control. She has to reload eventually.¡± He said, popping up and moving closer, firing a shot to keep her down. As if reflexive, Nadja responded and fired back, two rounds firing and one missing. The second, again hitting him as he tumbled and rolled, crashing into a table and using it as a shield. He checked again for blood, sure he was going to see red and seeing only his hand.

    ¡°Well, good news¡­the vest works.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°You got hit!?¡± she asked,

    ¡°Tanner, don¡¯t bulrush this bitch. She¡¯s shockingly fast.¡±

    ¡°Not if I show up where she doesn¡¯t expe-¡± she started, sticking her head out from the other side of the wall and watching two holes punch through the wood and plaster. She dropped down, as a strange burst of erratic full auto chewed a gash in the wall over her head. Mike¡¯s eyes widened, firing a blind shot over the table to draw her towards him and away from tanner.

    ¡°The fuck was that?¡± tanner yelled.

    ¡°Stop yelling, and maybe she¡¯ll think she got you. Those shots were spaced out oddly. That¡¯s not a burst setting. I think she¡¯s just that fast.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way. Some of those double taps sounded like one shot. She¡¯s got a Glock-switch or something."

    ¡°Tanner, just stay down. She has to be running out of ammo in that thing. It¡¯s a standard sized pistol.¡± He insisted. Nadja aimed at the center of the table, galloping her index finger and middle finger on the same trigger, sending 2 shots almost simultaneously in a single aimed ¡°shot¡± of one armor piercing and one flesh-eating hollowpoint. She shifted and repeated it lower on the table, the slide staying back as she dropped behind the bar and immediately back up. Mike recognized the sound of a slide locking and stood up to make the kill between reloads. There stood Nadja, coyly grinning to one side, mouth open like a playfully sarcastic gasp, and about a 2-foot long AR15 adorned in matte rose gold anodizing and black, bracer stock and shouldered. He dropped back down and an identical 2 shot burst kept him down. He noticed the metal table he was hiding behind had a series of dents and an equal amount of holes. That got his attention.

    ¡°Very impressive Michael. You do not disappoint a girl.¡± She taunted.

    ¡°Tanner, I want you to leave the building and got to the bike.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± She replied.

    ¡°Tanner, that¡¯s on order, go to the bike, get the MPX, blue mag, ready to go, and then wait there for me. Do not come back in.¡± he ordered. ¡°If you trust me.¡± He added. She fumed with annoyance and hesitated before taking off out the back and heading to the exit.

    ¡°Protecting your friend?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°You wanted the truth. I¡¯m everything you heard rumors about. I¡¯m the one you wanna kill, not her. If you give your word you won¡¯t hurt her, I¡¯ll come out and we can talk. If you so much as consider hurting her, I¡¯ll kill you now if it kills me too. You can put 2 rounds through me before I do, but I¡¯m gonna do it anyway and die later. So we both die, or I hear you make a deal. Do it quick. Patience is not one of my god¡¯s virtues either.¡±

    ¡°I promise I will not harm her. She is nothing to me. She shot first, I shot back. She has left, why follow, when you are still here?¡± she said as he stood up, gun drawn and locked on as she aimed silently at him with a much larger gun.

    ¡°Break your word, and I kill everything you ever loved.¡± He growled.

    ¡°You fear nothing, or you love her. Maybe both.¡± She sighed. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, she is only a pawn in this game. You¡¯re still standing. Have I not hit you yet?¡± she puzzled.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t feel a thing, so it¡¯s hard to say if you¡¯re a bad shot, or if I¡¯m just bulletproof.¡± Mike said, sweating and bluffing, realizing both hits to the vest were the hollowpoints, and that 50/50 luck doesn''t repeat forever.

    ¡°You do realize you lost this game. You''re out of ammo, I have probably 30 rounds left, I can shoot a cap off of the bottle twice as far as you are, and you are a much larger target. I have won.¡±

    ¡°So kill me.¡± He huffed.

    ¡°Michael, I don¡¯t want to kill you. If I wanted you dead, I would have done it.¡± she smiled.

    ¡°It¡¯s just Mike. Michael was my grandfather.¡±

    ¡°But Mike sounds so¡­boring. Like plumber or handyman. That is your mask. Michael, arch angel, so much more fitting.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it. You don¡¯t want me dead, that¡¯s a hell of a lot of bullets for someone who doesn¡¯t." he huffed.

    ¡°I said I wanted YOU. I want a legend, not an imposter or some credit-stealing chump claiming to be a legend. A little proof was needed. Congratulations, Michael, you were not lying. You should be dead twice now and there you stand.¡±

    ¡°Mike, we got cops everywhere.¡± Tanner said aggressively.

    ¡°Head home, I got this. The problem is handled.¡± He said, hanging up. ¡°Looks like the police are here. Security will show I fired in self-defense, and you killed 3 random people firing at me. So¡­I guess you got to meet your hero before going to prison. Was it worth it?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh I¡¯m not that concerned. Tell you what¡­you have my number, call me if you need bail.¡± She said, hopping up on the counter and laying her gun down, crossing her legs and kicking one foot as if just waiting, as police poured into the area, and Mike dropped his guns. Handcuffs met both of their wrists and both Nadja and Mike were pulled out in different directions. That devilish smile never left her face as he watched her being pulled along.

 Chapter 5: The Red Queen

    Mike silently sat in the police car, still cuffed, as the man in uniform stepped in and closed the door. Stocky build, Hispanic, scruffy buzzed beard and a stern look, he glared back at Mike, and the squad car started rolling.

    ¡°Officer, I would like a lawyer.¡± Mike demanded calmly.

    ¡°Officer Hernandez. You¡¯re not getting a lawyer.¡± He said bluntly. ¡°You shot the hell out of a strip club like a damn operative, armed with two pistols and body armor. We have video, we have audio, we have witnesses, we have dead people. Now you¡¯re gonna go for a ride with me, or you¡¯re going to prison. You can just forget about the law or protocol right now, and if you wanna know why, shut up and listen. Don¡¯t say a damn word. Your guns are in the car.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to make one statement that I won¡¯t be answering any questions or making any further statements until I have a lawyer present. Try me.¡± He said calmly.

    ¡°Oh good, because you¡¯re not getting a lawyer and that means you just get to listen to me and say nothing. I think that works just fine. So what just happened in the strip club was not what you think it was. You probably think you¡¯re under arrest for a lot of shit, and that blue haired stripper is about to spend the rest of her life in a cell before lethal injection. She¡¯s already let go. She¡¯s never seeing the inside of a cell."

    ¡°Could you repeat that, officer?¡± Mike asked with confusion and skepticism.

    ¡°Oh now we¡¯re talking, are we? No? Okay, then I got your attention. See this right here? This doesn¡¯t exist, officially. It¡¯s a thumb drive with security footage, and I was told to dispose of it, and forget it existed. I disobeyed that order. I was also told to deny you a lawyer and bring you to an address for questioning. We¡¯re not going there. You see, this is a place where they would get a confession out of you, you''d admit that you shot first and killed those people. You¡¯d never get a lawyer. However, the proof is on this thumb drive, and that¡¯s the only thing that saves your ass from going down for bullshit charges and 4 dead people you didn¡¯t shoot.¡±

    ¡°Alright¡­ I stand corrected. I will reply with very selective responses, such as¡­why someone like you would help me?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Because frankly, I watched the video, and you didn¡¯t do anything wrong, but there are 3 problems with that. You didn¡¯t just shoot back. You went fucking Rambo mode, and I¡¯ve never seen shit like that, secondly, The girl that just got let go after a mass shooting shitstorm is untouchable. And thirdly, none of that sits right with me. I don¡¯t know who you are or what you said to piss her off, but it seems like it doesn¡¯t take much. What do you know about her?¡± the office asked.

    ¡°Just a girl I met on a dating site. Apparently those can be very risky, so I brought protection.¡± Mike bullshitted.

    ¡°Yea right. Most 25-year-old girls require 2 guns and body armor to protect yourself around. The fact that you looked shocked when I said they let her go, means you have no idea who that is, and that means you just walk around ready for war all the time. You sure you don¡¯t know her?¡±

    ¡°I can give you the dating profile, and that¡¯s everything I knew until she pulled a gun. So who is she?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Nadja Morozov Ivanova.¡± He said, as Mike looked alarmed.

    ¡°Why does that last name ring a bell?¡± Mike asked, feeling uncomfortable.

    ¡°Anyone who follows recent politics knows it. She¡¯s the granddaughter of Boris Sergey Ivanova.¡± The officer informed.

    ¡°Are you shitting me? The damn president of Russia?¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°Bingo. Now I don¡¯t wanna get into the speculative over my pay grade, but a lot of people seem to think our current and beloved president DuPont is VERY chummy with the Russian President. Some theories would even say bought and paid for, but you didn¡¯t hear that from me. I just read the comments online, you know, for security reasons. But THEY seem to think he¡¯s a Russian sympathizing Crooked bastard who¡¯s been accused of everything from weapons dealing to leaked videos of them at both at parties that were busted for some very unsavory crimes committed. All just heresy, of course. Our beloved politicians never lie, right?¡±

    ¡°I have the internet, and you don¡¯t have to convince me he¡¯s a damn puppet pedophile, owned by the Russians. Every damn president we¡¯ve had in the last 20 years has been a criminal pedophile warmongering bastard. This one just works for a different foreign leader than the last one, and so on. Welcome to politics. You gotta sell your soul and drink the blood of a dead child to even get your name on a voting form for anything above city mayor, and the higher up you go the more rigged the elections are. I¡¯m familiar. And I¡¯m guessing that Nadja could shoot a school apart with a belt fed machine gun, and they would never dare keep her in prison for more than a day in a private holding cell. So someone has to take the fall for 3 dead at a nightclub, and they like me for the position.¡± Mike theorized.

    ¡°Damn you¡¯re good.¡± Nodded the officer.

    ¡°Maybe. So is this just a way of getting a confession before the interrogation? Spare me the beating?¡±

    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know who you are or what you are, all I got from the video was Michael. You see, I have a problem with this little Russian bitch showing up in MY town and killing people like it¡¯s her job and nobody does shit. That¡¯s not how I roll, but I¡¯ll be rolling without a job if I say that to the chief. I like my job and I put away people like her. So either I stand my ground and can¡¯t do my job anymore, or I keep my job and let her walk. Feels like the same thing to me, except one comes with a paycheck for my soul. So I¡¯m bending the rules, risking my ass and taking you to a safehouse. You work for the police now, do us all a favor, and we drop all charges.¡±

    ¡°Officer Hernandez, are you telling me to kill Nadja Ivanova because nobody else can touch her, let alone arrest her?¡± Mike asked clearly.

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying anything. I¡¯m painting a scenario of things that could happen. You do what you wanna do. But if I was a dead man walking with moves like tha-¡± The officer said, interrupted by a wall of broken glass and the vehicle flipping over. Mike crawled out of the broken back seat window as his head spun, and a black SUV drove away with the front end crunched up, a matching black car with tinted windows paused, blue hair blowing behind the lens of a scope, the barrel pointed in his direction. Mike stood up, barely able to move, let alone dodge a bullet as the shot rang out and Officer Hernandez¡¯s brains painted the street. The car drove away, leaving him staggering and alone. He grabbed the Glock from the dead officer and began walking, trying to stay hidden down an alleyway. He heard the sound of a car following, and knew the police were on his tracks. On foot, he wasn¡¯t going very far, especially with broken ribs and one loaded gun. He stopped, ready to make some form of stand, refusing to go to prison, but the idea of killing innocent cops to free himself was hard to bare, until a truck pulled up beside him and the door opened.

    ¡°Get in motherfucker.¡± Carl said, waving him in with his machine pistol. ¡°Or just go to prison, choose quick before I change my mind.¡± He said, as Mike reluctantly got in, and shut the door. The truck spun out down the alley, slowing down casually as it turned on a main road, and drove like a normal every day vehicle into public traffic. ¡°You look like shit. You bleeding? Shot?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°Vest took the rounds, I think I broke a rib. Car crash didn¡¯t exactly help anything.¡± Mike wheezed.

    ¡°I can¡¯t take you to the ER, but I got a guy where we¡¯re going that is¡­sort of a doctor.¡± shrugged Carl.

    ¡°Sort of?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Okay, he WAS a doctor, he killed a few patients, and now he¡¯s part of the AA group and doesn¡¯t have a license anymore. He got lucky they couldn¡¯t prove the kills were intentional, so he lost his license for¡­man who cares, he¡¯s better than nothing. You want help or not?¡±

    ¡°Honestly, someone seems to think you¡¯re here to kill me.¡± He said, tapping the Glock on the dash.

    ¡°It¡¯s complicated, Mike. How about you just throw your guns in the back seat for now and listen to the situation. If I wanted you dead, I¡¯d have just run over you. BUT you¡¯re not gonna like what i''m gonna say, and I don¡¯t want you shooting me until you heard the whole story. All 3 guns. I know you carry 2, and you wouldn¡¯t pass up a free Glock off a dead cop, so 3 pistols, one-handed over the shoulder, good boy. And the knife. Okay, that¡¯s good enough for me.¡±

    ¡°You wanna get that Skorpion barrel pointed somewhere else?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Absolutely not, Mike. This is my protection. I want you aware that I can kill you right now, in case you get really angry at this next part.¡±

    ¡°I need a phone, I have to warn Tanner.¡± Mike huffed, tired of the bullshit game.

    ¡°Yea, so that¡¯s part of my bad news¡­ she¡¯s fine. Tanner is safe, but she¡¯s not at the U-haul van. I had my guy pick her up. I kinda had to dose her and abduct her to get her to go. It¡¯s for her own safety.¡± Carl said, tightening his grip on the gun as Mike eyes practically glowed with rage. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°Carl I¡¯ll kill you if you hurt her.¡± Mike growled.

    ¡°I know, hence the barrel pointed at you. You¡¯re angry and worked up and rattled, and not listening clearly. Mike, Tanner is safe and hidden because frankly, this Russian bitch only refrained from killing her in the club because she didn¡¯t see her as a threat. If she was any better with a gun, she¡¯d be dead, and that means she¡¯s out of her league, and you know it. Tanner is as dead as that cop as long as she¡¯s walking around with a gun, trying to defend you and getting in Nadja¡¯s way. That stubborn little girl is gonna get killed defending you, tell me I¡¯m wrong, Mike. Tell me she¡¯s not impulsive and tell me she¡¯s anywhere near ready to fight what you just went up against. Go ahead and tell me I¡¯m wrong.¡± Carl baited.

    ¡°Fuck. Where is she?¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°If I tell you, and they torture you, then it defeats the point. She¡¯s safe. I like Tanner. I don¡¯t want to see her hurt either; you have to trust me, which is why I¡¯m being brutally honest with you. I WAS here to kill you. Not tanner¡­ just you.¡±

    ¡°You son of a bitch. Why?¡± Mike coughed.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re sort of in my way. When you killed the group, you left it wide open and left a vacuum of power. I stepped up, took in some new blood, lotta young killers and inexperienced nobodies, a few decent catches. I¡¯m changing the management, doing what you were doing: Killing the worst things out there and taking down the social system, instead of letting it own and buy me. Catherine worked FOR the politicians and the rich pricks, I¡¯m wiping them out. That requires leadership and respect, and nobody follows a guy who did 13 needle jobs and one assassination. Intimidation and status is everything. So¡­I told them I was you. I¡¯m the lakeshot shooter. The guy who wiped the old group out. I stole your thunder. It¡¯s shitty, but it¡¯s for a good cause.¡±

    ¡°And you think I¡¯m a threat who¡¯s likely to dethrone you and take over? Carl, I moved out of state to start over and leave it behind.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. You gave up the mission, for Tanner. But I got to thinking. I raided your cabin, it was absolutely trapped as you know, your whole operation was based on a bluff, your whole team was just you, no arsenal just tricks and shadowplay. I gotta do the same thing. I gotta become you, Mike. The only problem is that to become you, the real you can¡¯t be out there to rat me out, get caught, or get killed, or my big smokescreen is fucked and my entire plan breaks down. Mike I¡¯m doing some good work here, I got your lists, I got people believing me, I got dirty cops scared and politicians hiding in their basements thanks to you, but the only two people who know I¡¯m a fraud are you and Tanner. You were the best, and for me to take your place, I have to be the best. I gotta kill you, fair and square, and honestly with this Russian bitch on your ass you¡¯re dead anyway so I¡¯ll just kill you and tell tanner it was her, Tanner won¡¯t ever know the truth. It¡¯s better than her getting killed or posing a threat. She¡¯s safest believing the lie I fed her. She may even grow up to continue your work and be part of the group. But right now she¡¯s a liability and a risk.¡±

    ¡°How do I know you won¡¯t hurt her after I¡¯m dead?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Because I like her. I genuinely do, and the only reason I gotta kill you is because if I don¡¯t, and Nadja does, then I lost my one chance to prove I¡¯m good enough to take your place. You left a big shadow, Mike. Even I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m worthy, I still can¡¯t make that Lakeshot, I can¡¯t figure out your gun designs, How am I supposed to do your work and take your place if I can¡¯t even kill you in a fair fight, old and retired? You¡¯re 51, man. In assassin years you may as well be 90, and when people retire and don¡¯t have a purpose anymore, I send them home. That¡¯s my thing. You deserve more than a needle in the back, from a man in the dark. You deserve to go down fighting. You deserve a fair fight. If you go to Tanner, if you can even find her, you¡¯re bringing Nadja right to her, and she¡¯s as good as dead. I¡¯ll kill you to keep her safe. If you fight Nadja, you are beyond fucked. If you fight me, then either you die fairly, proving that it¡¯s my time to run things, or I die proving that I¡¯m wrong, and you just do whatever you want. You said God gave you a replacement. What if he gave you ME as your replacement, and he gave you tanner as a gift. She¡¯s no leader, she¡¯s soft, she¡¯s sloppy as hell on her kills. She still needs guidance. A home, a group where she can be safe and have friends. I killed Catherine, 800 yard headshot. I was tempted by her offer and couldn¡¯t betray you both, I let Tanner go, and in the end you left ME to finish the job. So either I¡¯m an idiot and willing to die for it, or I¡¯m the one to take your place. That included keeping Tanner safe and covering the bullshit up. In this line of work you don¡¯t train a kid to take your place, you get dethroned by a better killer with the same mission. I never believed in that shit until you walked into that safehouse and took out 20 guys you had no chance of beating. That makes you question if that whole religion thing is real or not. You¡¯re bulletproof, Mike. God has your back. So call this a test of faith. Is he gonna protect you from me, or is he going to let you retire and let me do your job until some young prick is ready to replace me?¡± Carl asked

    ¡°Hell of a speech. You found God, and he wants you in charge. I¡¯d say that¡¯s arrogant, but that¡¯s exactly what I did. Do I believe you? Not really. I think it¡¯s bullshit. But if it¡¯s bullshit I¡¯m going to kill you, and if you¡¯re right then I have to try to kill you anyway.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t faith a real pain in the ass some days? You ever doubt it and feel stupid later? You think I want to face you just for the fun of it? You¡¯re the damn Lakeshot Shooter. I won¡¯t stand a chance if I¡¯m wrong. If I kill you like this, injured and bent over point-blank, with a cheap shot to the side¡­that proves nothing. I wanna believe. I wanna believe so bad, I¡¯m here to find out just like you. I like you, Mike. But when you think God wants you to kill someone, you don¡¯t argue. You just believe and do it. So here we are on the same side of the same team, ready to find out who¡¯s really supposed to be here. We can''t both be right. Either you¡¯re too stubborn to retire, or I¡¯m too young and dumb to force you to retire. Let God settle it. Let¡¯s do this like men with honor. I get you patched up, give you a running start, you get your guns and gear and do whatever you do, and the hunt begins. Gentleman¡¯s rules. How about no shots under a hundred yards, no human shields, no explosives, no traps. Just two men and scopes, two lions hunting in their element? Sure beats getting mowed down, tortured and butchered by some Russian psychopath, or bringing that shitstorm back to Illinois where Tanner is, and the group is doing the lord¡¯s work like you were. I¡¯m sorry Mike. God said it¡¯s time to retire. Did he ever directly tell you it wasn¡¯t?¡± Carl asked. Mike sat for a moment and pondered the question. ¡°Let¡¯s get you to the doctor.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need your doctor. I don¡¯t want your doctor. I need 24 hours to pray and good night¡¯s sleep. That¡¯s enough for me.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. 24 hours. Badass as usual.¡± Carl grinned.

    ¡°So tell me¡­ How bad is this Nadja?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Somewhere between the devil herself and the devil¡¯s right hand on Earth. She¡¯s not like us, killing for mercy or justice, she just kills. There¡¯s no reason to her. She¡¯s a spoiled brat that likes to kill things. Whatever she wants for whatever reason. 30 years old, psychopath like her grandfather. Cops here call her the Prom Queen Killer, or in her own twisted little cult, the Red Queen. Grampa gives her anything she wants, and she loves American toys. Guns, money¡­she even got her birthday wish for a full American prom for high school graduation.¡±

    ¡°And I thought I spoiled Tanner.¡± Mike shrugged.

    ¡°President Grampa paid for everything, then her boyfriend dumped her for another girl, so she showed up in a full dress and tiara with a fully automatic Draco 7.62 and shot the place up, killing 14 people, including the boyfriend, the girl, and some students in the way. Kids in her class, Mike. She also supposedly took a bite out of the dead girl''s neck and proceeded to just empty the gun into her corpse for the fun of it. Russian police found her just sitting on the steps eating cake as if nothing ever happened, still wearing her tiara covered in so much blood her blonde hair was bright red. The whole incident was just washed from public records and the president covered everything, and tried to say it was the boyfriend who did the shooting and then offed himself. Witnesses said nothing, either paid or threatened to stay silent, obviously. One of them mysteriously died. Convenient.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t Russia, why wouldn¡¯t she be arrested like any other public shooter?¡± asked Mike.

    ¡°Have you followed our wonderful president DuPont¡¯s latest allegations? He¡¯s shockingly chummy with President Ivanova. US is trying to remain uninvolved in a rather sketchy World War 3 shitstorm. This may as well be Russia now. Our president is second in charge now, below her Grampa. She could practically walk into a police station with a grenade launcher and kill 4 officers and avoid jailtime, and if any of them shot back and hit her, they would likely end up in an unfortunate car accident, or in Russia with a bag over their head in a room with someone who doesn¡¯t exist, and a big box of shiny sharp things. She¡¯s pure evil. The AA group is working up to killing mayors, not Russian Presidential hits. Face it buddy. You¡¯re already retired. I¡¯ll kill you respectfully and quick, fuck only knows what kinda weird shit she¡¯ll do to you for weeks, months, before you die of infection or a heart attack. I know it seems like I¡¯m the villain in this, but you¡¯re just assuming you¡¯re still the hero. You still got it, preacher? If you can handle Nadja, killing me should be just a warm-up. For some reason, She wants you alive. If you¡¯re already dead, she won¡¯t have any reason to track down Tanner. I said she¡¯s safe, for now. If the Russians send an army, I make no promises that I can keep her safe.¡±

    ¡°Carl, as much as I wanna stab you right now, I might actually believe you over her, and I can¡¯t see you torturing Tanner. I wouldn''t put it past Nadja to torture her to get to me. Have you actually met Nadja?¡± Mike asked as they rolled up to the U-haul and stopped.

    ¡°No¡­just at a distance and through a scope. Wearing a shitload of camo and hiding behind cover.¡± Carl admitted.

    ¡°I got pretty close. When I look at you, I see a young man who thinks he¡¯s right and doesn¡¯t have it in him to start a war, or mow down a school. When I looked in her eyes, I saw something I never saw before in a human being. Nothing. Not a damn thing. Emptiness. I¡¯m not going to enjoy killing you unless I find out you¡¯re lying to me. But I will defend myself, and I will kill you.¡±

    ¡°Mike. I wish you the best. Don¡¯t go easy on me, just be fair. It¡¯s just like war, man, shoot first and let God sort them out. 24 hours grace period, heal up. May the blessed man win, preacher.¡± He said, letting him out to get his guns. Mike opened the door to the U-haul and grabbed old Gwen, pointing the scope at the truck and tempted to shoot Carl in the back, but letting the thermals do the talking. 98.5 degrees. He said a silent prayer, hoping it would change, but God didn''t raise the thermals.

    ¡°That¡¯s just great. Thanks for the guidance.¡± Mike said to the sky, walking past the open bathroom and feeling a slight twinge of fear in his heart as he asked himself if Carl was right. He popped the scope off and sat Gwen down, stepping into the tiny stall and looking at himself in the mirror, seeing an old man with a lot of rough edges. He lifted the thermal scope up, hesitating before reaching his eye, half scared of what he would look like in the mirror. Was it his time to glow? He took a deep breath, looking up and letting it out. 98.9 degrees. ¡°That''s a relief. God, if I''ve earned any favors from the work I¡¯ve done for you, give it to Tanner. Keep her safe, and just let me have the faith to believe she is okay. Whatever happens to me, is irrelevant. But, If it''s time to die, then let me die fighting." he said to the mirror. "Preferably fighting Carl, not Nadja."

 Chapter 6: Awakening

    Tanner woke up, ziptied to a chair and struggling immediately, like a wild animal. Her teeth gnashed and almost foaming with rage.

    ¡°Calm down, you¡¯ll hurt yourself, and we don¡¯t want that.¡± Said a familiar voice.

    ¡°Carl you dickshit, cut me loose, and I¡¯ll kill you nicer than I will if I have to break these myself.¡± She barked.

    ¡°Tanner, I deserve that. I deserve a light beating for having to dose you¡­again. But this time it¡¯s for your own safety, and if I let you go you won''t just wail on me, you¡¯ll actually try and kill me.¡±

    ¡°No shit. Where¡¯s Mike?¡± She asked aggressively.

    ¡°Mike is fine, everything is fine. I just drove 12 hours to be here myself, so you wouldn¡¯t wake up to some stranger. I¡¯m not your enemy, Tanner. I¡¯m a friend who¡¯s just¡­not stupid enough to get killed by someone like you who is running on pure adrenaline. You¡¯re feisty, but you¡¯re really not a great listener.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Oh I¡¯m listening right now, and if you think Mike is gonna let you get away with this¡­¡±

    ¡°Mike agrees with me. We had that chat already. He didn¡¯t like it either, until he heard the whole story, but he agrees that keeping you safe is the most important thing, even safe from yourself. Mike is still in Texas, prepping for war, and I¡¯m doing the same. You met the Red queen, haven¡¯t you? Nadja. Blue hair, kind of a monstrous bitch?¡±

    ¡°Friend of yours?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°God no. Russian President¡¯s granddaughter, and a killer that could eat you for breakfast and have room for Mike. Or torture you to get to mike, or just torture you for fun and use your corpse to taunt Mike. She¡¯s a problem, and you are in WAY over your head.¡±

    ¡°I wanna talk to Mike.¡± She insisted. "I don''t believe you, I wanna hear it from Mike. Put him on."

    ¡°I can do almost as good. Right now we¡¯re on total blackout, no phones, but he sent you a message and I brought it directly so there would be no virtual interception." He said, holding out the phone as a video of Mike played.

    ¡°Tanner. Don¡¯t be scared. This will be over soon, do not come to Texas, do not try and find me, don¡¯t trust anyone, be safe, stay, alive, stay down.¡± He said abruptly cut off.

    ¡°Satisfied?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°No not really. He said trust nobody, he didn¡¯t say to trust you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because he doesn¡¯t trust me. Not with you. He doesn''t trust anyone with your life. He trusts me with HIS life, not enough to trust me with yours. But you heard him, stay here. Don¡¯t trust me if you don¡¯t want to. I don¡¯t care. I promised Mike I¡¯d keep you safe and keep you here. If you wanna know why we both want you here and not in Texas, here¡¯s a tablet. It¡¯s got all the fun details on the blue haired bitch we¡¯re going up against. I warn you, it¡¯s some nasty shit. Now Mike was not informed that I was abducting you until after the fact, I didn¡¯t have time to try and convince you both, and he wouldn¡¯t have let me dose you, and then you would be right in the shitstorm where neither of us want you.¡± Carl explained.

    ¡°So What? I¡¯m a prisoner for my own good?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Not a prisoner. You¡¯re just safe. I¡¯m going to be very blunt with you Tanner, the reason we agreed that you need to be here is because we¡¯re about to try and kill Nadja. TRY being the key word. I¡¯m a much better killer than you are, if you want proof of that, look at where you are. I took you down twice and could have killed you both times, you got away once because I let you, and I¡¯m not half the killer Mike is. Mike isn''t half the killer Nadja is. You¡¯re a nice girl with potential and a great teacher guiding you, but you¡¯re not even ready to kill major targets alone, and if I can be real, odds are that Mike and I aren¡¯t both surviving this. Hell, neither of us might survive this. Nadja is a new breed of animal, even we¡¯re not really confident teaming up on. I¡¯ll be amazed of we both survive. Best you can do is survive for both of us, stay out of it, stay down like he told you, please. If Mike lost you, it would just kill him. I¡¯d be kinda fucked up if I lost you too. You¡¯re a friend, and I¡¯m sentimental. What you need to do is trust in both of us, have faith, pray for the best, and if there is a God, and he still loves Mike, you¡¯ll see him soon enough, and maybe even me. Don¡¯t trust me, trust Mike and his faith. Can you do that?¡± he asked. ¡°Can you do us both a huge favor and not get yourself killed in Texas? You are NOTHING to Nadja but an irritation, bait and leverage, and she is nastier than you can imagine, BUT you can read about it on this tablet. It¡¯s got pictures and articles pulled from Russian newspapers, police records that have been erased and 2 hours after both of them got arrested at the strip club, Mike was on his way to a disposal house to be executed by bought-out cops, and Nadja was let go by the police. I saved his ass and yours. She has no rules like we do. Cops won¡¯t touch her. They might kill us for it. Or the Russians, or some private hitman from God knows where.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Why does she want Mike?¡± tanner asked.

    ¡°Fuck if I know. My guess is some cult shit. It¡¯s all in the tablet. Some weird Russian satanic cult thing, Mike is God¡¯s personal hitman, and he made a big impact when he wiped that safehouse clean of some big hitters. She either wants to sacrifice him to her weird cult devil, or prove something to grampa, or just¡­maybe she got bored, and he seemed like the biggest challenge. I am guessing on all 3. But thankfully you¡¯re kind of a nobody, a low rank no name killer with no real record, and she doesn¡¯t think you¡¯re a threat. One thing I promise is that if we go down, we take them with us, and they won¡¯t get anything from either of us, your location, this safehouse, or your identity. We¡¯ll both go down with a bang before we get tortured for information. That is a promise. And I dunno. Maybe Mike is right and we¡¯ll both live through it. He seems to believe we¡¯re both protected¡­I really want to believe that. I wanna believe we¡¯ll all be back here together and friends and laugh at this, but between us, the man has more faith than I do. I think our survival is on us. Do you believe Mike is really bulletproof and blessed? Do you think that means any protection for me? Feel free to lie, I could use the encouragement before driving back and getting shot at.¡±

    ¡°I believe in him.¡± Tanner nodded.

    ¡°Okay, well, I¡¯ll just pretend that means we¡¯ll both be fine. Anything you need, anything at all. Comforts, coping mechanisms, company. You¡¯re among friends. The group is back, and it¡¯s all the good guys under my lead this time. You¡¯ll be fine, and when this is over, you¡¯re free to go. Pray for both of us. We¡¯ll need it.¡± Carl lied.

    ¡°Where are my guns?¡± she asked.

    ¡°In that locker. Locked up where you won¡¯t be tempted to try some stupid rescue situation. My guys are under orders to keep you safe and unharmed, but if you do try and run, they will dart your ass. Please don¡¯t make them. If Mike and me survive and I have to admit we had to dart gunned you twice, he¡¯s gonna break my damn nose. He loves you. More than anything. And I love you like a friend, part of the team. Teams do what they have to. Stay down, like Mike said. I¡¯m not letting you get yourself or us killed. We might end up both dead anyway.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re real comforting, Carl.¡± She sniffed.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m too honest and not optimistic enough. I can just lie to you, Tanner. Don¡¯t worry, Mike has this, and we¡¯ll both be perfectly fine and back real soon. You believe that?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± she scoffed.

    ¡°That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t lead with it." Carl said as a bigger man entered the room with a knife. "Butch, cut her loose, give her anything she needs, make sure she¡¯s comfortable, don¡¯t dart her unless you absolutely have to.¡± He said, patting his assistant on the back, armed with a tranquilizer gun, holstered and unbuttoned. ¡°Goodbye Tanner. Really hope you get to see me again¡­alive and walking on my own two feet.¡± He added as he left, to go hunt down Mike and become the true lying Judas he was.

    Mike woke up from his sleep, still worried about Tanner, and staggering to the mirror. He lifted his shirt, realizing the broken rib may just be bruised, the soreness and swelling lessened and the color now a rainbow of purple, green and tan. He stepped outside for a smoke, blinded by the light, and was immediately met with the echoing thump of two nearly aligned rounds hitting the side of the U-haul. He went to draw his pistol and realized he didn¡¯t have it on him.

    ¡°Good morning, Michael." Said the strange Russian accent. ¡°Where is little girlfriend?¡± she asked.

    ¡°In all honesty, I don¡¯t know. I told her to run and not say where, and she did." he sighed.

    ¡°So you have exchanged killing partners for someone you don¡¯t mind dying?¡±

    ¡°Oh Carl? Actually, Carl wants me dead, that was a courtesy save so he could do it himself, and what he calls fairly. Shoot him for all I give a shit.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Surely he is no threat to you.¡± Nadja smirked.

    ¡°I trained him a little, he¡¯s good. Good enough to take me out at range without me ever hearing it. Don¡¯t believe me, feel free to kill him yourself.¡± Mike said, lighting up.

    ¡°Do you attempt to trap me and deceive me? All I want is you, you know.¡± she said seductively, raking her nails on the U-haul.

    ¡°Why? What¡¯s so special about me. You don¡¯t want to kill me like he does, but you shoot at me and stalk me. I¡¯m not THAT good-looking.¡± he chuckled.

    ¡°It¡¯s not about that. It never was. I like to collect American things I want, things I can play with. Why do you act like you don¡¯t enjoy it? Because you¡¯re God doesn¡¯t approve? Michael, you are a grown man using a fairytail to control your urges, like you do with Tanner. I know everything about you. You only kill what God tells you to kill or what you must, yet you killed everything breathing in that Safehouse in Illinois. Did god tell you they were all evil, or did you just stop taking orders and did what you wanted? Did it feel good, powerful? Unrestricted and free?¡± she hissed.

    ¡°I thought Tanner was dead, everything I cared about gone, my faith was shattered, and I just gave up. It felt empty and hollow.¡±

    ¡°Because of your loss, but when you found her, did you not feel like a king? Did your God punish you for disobedience, or reward you with her life? Michael, your God is in your head. Nothing more than something you needed to feel hope, that you use to tell yourself you¡¯re not like the others. You are the good guy, according to him. But you are not a chosen soldier for a higher power, you are an animal, a killer, you simply have a conscience, and gave it a name. Tanner does the same thing, but she has no faith. She chooses. Why do you deny your nature and resist temptations when you can simply do what you want and be free of a master you created?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°You don¡¯t ever think there¡¯s anything greater than us?¡± Mike scoffed.

    ¡°No. We are the apex predator of our world, where the strong and resourceful evolve and survive. What am I to you¡­the devil? What are you to the men you¡¯ve slaughtered, the good guy, or the villain? So many sides and beliefs and right and wrong. All nonsense, all ways to cope with a heart too weak to admit it wants to be a monster.¡± She said, approaching him as he stepped back against the aluminum box, lightly brushing the end of the Ruger¡¯s barrel under his chin and leaning close enough to bite. ¡°I want to see the rest of that monster. You have done so much impressive work while restraining it, so much potential, just¡­locked up for nothing.¡±

    ¡°That restraint is what separates us from animals, it¡¯s WHY we¡¯re better and more evolved, and at the top. Control of yourself IS power.¡± He replied as she silently chuckled.

    ¡°Then this is your peak form and I have nothing to awaken, and you are just a killer, getting old, burrowing into denial instead of enjoying life. I should just kill you. Why not? You are just a disappointment, Da? You don¡¯t get rid of me so easily. I do believe in something, Michael. I believe in you. The real you, down in there behind the bars, trying to get out, thirsty, hungry, starved. Starving an animal can weaken it, but it can also make it desperate and when they have nothing to lose, when all they have is taken away, that is when they are most dangerous and when they can take out a dozen younger, stronger killers, and walk away unharmed. Just like you did. Your real God is that thing you bottle up, whispering to you to let you feed it just a little. You do not listen to your god, you put a leash on it, and it has learned to whisper to get fed. To lie to you, to survive. Why torment it like you do? Why torment yourself? Never a drink, never a kill just because you want it, never a woman you want unless the voice tells you it¡¯s okay.¡± She said, placing a Vektor 9mm in his hand and moving it to her head, the Ruger barrel still planted in his beard and lined with his skull. "That look in your eyes says you want me, or you want me dead¡­maybe both. Maybe we die together. Maybe your god jams my gun and lets yours fire.¡± She said, staring him in the eyes. "The dominant voice in his head screaming to pull the trigger, a smaller voice telling him it would be a shame to waste a curiosity over a wild guess of luck. He grabbed her by the shirt and yanked her to the side as a loud gong of a projectile hitting metal rang the U-haul like a bell. He dragged her at gunpoint around the side and into the back door.

    ¡°Carl.¡± He sighed. "That was too close for a warning shot."

    ¡°How sweet, saving me from the bullet.¡± She grinned devilishly.

    ¡°Your head was lined up with mine, and judging from the hole it left on the box, that was meant to kill both of us. I didn¡¯t feel like dying or leaving you outside to kill me. So here we are.¡± He said, gun still on her skull.

    ¡°So shoot back, or do you not defend without God''s permission?¡± she scoffed.

    ¡°I can¡¯t shoot back. He¡¯s too damn far, and I don¡¯t know here he is. I saw the flash and moved, didn¡¯t hear gunshot until several seconds after the round hit. He¡¯s a thousand yards out.¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t have your 50 caliber in this fucking mobile trailer-trash home?¡± she barked, with annoyance.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­a complicated answer. Let¡¯s just say for practicality reasons, Nothing I can get to or use right now will do that, even if I knew exactly where to aim."

    ¡°I know you. You wouldn¡¯t live in this shitbox and not have it armored against bullets.¡±

    ¡°Oh yea, it¡¯s armored. Wasn¡¯t designed to stop a damn 50 cal with AP rounds.¡± He said, as the wall behind her bulged out and sung like a tuning fork. ¡°If he hits the right toolbox with one of those, we¡¯re both dead.¡± He said, ducking under the top-only bunk bed, and opening the hatch to the truck cab, starting it up and flooring it. Another bulge opened up in the wall, bits of metal showering out the side.

    ¡°He¡¯s hitting a moving vehicle at a thousand yards? Who the hell is this, CARL!?¡± She barked.

    ¡°Just a guy I worked with¡­kills old retired people for a living. People like me. I¡¯m his personal hero, he wants my head on the trophy wall.¡±

    ¡°Poshel ti!¡± she yelled ¡°Where do you keep guns!?¡±

    ¡°Shotgun in the cabinet above you.¡±

    ¡°What would I hit with a shotgun? Long range rifle!¡± she barked as he circled the hill to obscure the line of sight.

    ¡°The best I got is the MPX-45. It¡¯s complicated.¡±

    ¡°Submachine gun? The Lakeshot Shooter does not have a sniper rifle in his fucking mobile home?¡± she objected, pointing the Ruger at his head.

    ¡°Right, because shooting me won¡¯t kill us both at 65mph while you¡¯re standing with no seatbelt. Put the gun down. You aren¡¯t gonna shoot me anyway. You like me. But sure, you¡¯re right, I¡¯m lying because I wanna get shot by Carl and not return fire. So clearly I have a hidden room I¡¯m not telling you about with the big guns, maybe it¡¯s in the basement behind the minifridge.¡± he barked sarcastically.

    ¡°You really did move to retire.? With your little Tanner?¡± she asked, disappointed and slightly revolted.

    ¡°Not¡­exactly. This is not a conversation for a car chase. Sit down and seatbelt in.¡± He insisted, She crawled through and sat down, holding the MPX. ¡°Please, for the love of whatever god you serve, do NOT fire that thing in here.¡± He said looking nervous. She looked confused at his alarm, taking out the magazine and staring at the transparent plastic double stack container full of silvery 45 bullets case and projectiles, the same piece of metal, and a small hole revealing the tip of a black painted copper insert. She turned the gun to notice the foregrip was actually another magazine mounted horizontally, clicking back in place into a hole cut in the magazine well.

    ¡°What gun am I holding?¡± she asked. "Did you make this?"

    ¡°Not the time, not the place. Just put it on safety and put it down, you¡¯ll deafen us both.¡± Mike said. She reluctantly leaned the gun on the ground, pointed away from her.

    ¡°Tell me the truth. Why do you run from Carl?" She asked.

    ¡°Let¡¯s make a little deal. You answer something honest, and then I will. What is your ranged weapon of choice, your sniper setup?¡± he asked.

    ¡°A custom rifle I can¡¯t get into the fucking USA, so at the moment, Masterpiece Arms 5.7 with 14 inch suppressed barrel.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°No, your longest range weapon. What¡¯s your thousand yard gun?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I just told you. I don¡¯t have a thousand yard gun, I like my enemies to see my face before they die. Not¡­painless thousand yard headshot hiding in the bushes in camouflage.¡± She admitted.

    ¡°So your longest range is about 300 yards if you¡¯re lucky.¡± he confirmed.

    ¡°Not everyone can be a long distance killers and up close killer too.¡± she scolded.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if that¡¯s good for me or not. Mostly because I don¡¯t know if we¡¯re on the same side right now, and anything useful now is a problem for me tomorrow. I noticed your little trigger technique and your home-made mods. It¡¯s impressive, but you haven¡¯t seen custom until you messed with my setup. Nothing is what it looks like.¡±

    ¡°I know. I have seen security videos of you killing with a gun that doesn¡¯t match the police reports. I find it inspiring.¡± she smiled.

    ¡°Well, the Lakeshot gun is in about 6 pieces, one of them broken, and I''m out of ammo you can¡¯t buy at any store. Takes about 3 hours to make one round. And this may uninspired you, but Carl is a better shot than I am at that range, so if it comes down to us exchanging artillery from a mile away, we¡¯re just fucked.¡± Mike admitted.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. Nobody is that good. Is he family, someone you don¡¯t want to kill? A lover?¡± she asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Oh trust me, given then chance I¡¯m going to kill Carl, and sleep well knowing I did it. I just don¡¯t know I¡¯ll have the chance to do it. If I can get him within 200 yards, he¡¯s done.¡±

    ¡°You are not lying, are you? My honest question turn. Are you the Lakeshot shooter or not, the man who took down an army for one hooker?¡± she asked boldly.

    ¡°Yea, I¡¯m the guy. That is the last time you¡¯ll ever want to call tanner that again, but I¡¯m the guy. There¡¯s just more to it than you know, and it¡¯s not working in my favor this time, against Carl. I¡¯m the monster you wanted, locked down and bottled up like you said, but every monster has a weakness, and right now, mine is Carl with a Tac 50. That¡¯s a combination I can¡¯t deal with at the moment. My turn. If I tell you something very disappointing, are you going to fuck off and leave me alone, or kill me?¡±

    ¡°That depends on what you say.¡± she shrugged.

    ¡°Open the glove box, there¡¯s a glasses case with a pair of black rimmed glasses. Try em on.¡± He suggested. She cautiously opened the glove box expecting a trap, and finding only glasses. She put them on and made a strange face, squinting and recoiling.

    ¡°This is blurry. Why do you have these?¡± she asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s the spare glasses I have if the ones I¡¯m wearing right now get broken. I¡¯m not hitting anything at a thousand yards smaller than a 2-story building. If I¡¯m alive in a year or two, I¡¯ll be upgrading to trifocals.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going blind?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m just getting old. We¡¯re all going blind, sweetheart. We¡¯re all getting arthritis, heart problems, you¡¯re just 2-3 decades away from really noticing it. I¡¯m fighting more battles than you know right now. In my line of work, it¡¯s a miracle I can still do the shit I can do. And I can do a lot, but less than yesterday, every day. Did I take down that fucker with a 50 cal on his porch back then, with very specialized gear, a week of planning and a bullet that took 6 hours to make the first time¡­and all the time in the world to calmly shoot a target that didn¡¯t know I was there? Yep. Can I hit the broad side of this van parked from a thousand yards out, with any gun I own today? Probably not. Maybe if took my time with Gwen tuned up and ready, and had a spotter and a box of 15 shells. Right now, Gwen has a cracked receiver bolt from the safehouse job, and I¡¯m driving with bifocals on. We¡¯ve both seen better days. If you came to America to snag the sharpest shooter around. I¡¯ll pull over, you can go find Carl and take him back to Russia. Best of luck to you both. I¡¯ll be really devastated to see you two go, but I''ll try my best.¡± He smiled back at her. "Reality is a bitch, ain''t it?"

 Chapter 7: Error

    Due to a labeling error, there is no chapter 7.

    No content is missing, but relabeling every chapter after publishing will screw up far more than just admitting the mistake. Nobody said I was good with computers.

    You have not missed anything, proceed to chapter 8. Thank you for your time.

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter) This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

    Filler filler filler filler (Royal Road requires minimum 500 count to post a chapter)

 Chapter 8: Thirsty little demons

    The moving truck pulled into a parking lot, stopping near the back. Fresh bullet holes and debris still scattered around.

    ¡°We¡¯re here, the address you insisted.¡± Mike said shutting off the engine.

    ¡°Listen. You say nothing to anyone but me, only what is necessary. We go inside separately, you pick what rifle you want and what bullets you need. Most accurate rifle, money is not a problem. You have ID, you can buy a rifle, yes?¡± Nadja asked directly.

    ¡°Yea.¡± Mike nodded.

    ¡°Good. Remain here.¡± She said locking him in place with a ziptie on his wrist. ¡°When I come out, You go in.¡± she finished, placing a roll of money in his lap with a pat, less appropriate than expected.

    Nadja squinted skeptically over the counter of the little gun shop at the old man behind the counter, the darkness of night in the window behind her.

    ¡°What is this?¡± she asked, holding up the paper he printed out.

    ¡°Print of specifics. You wanted every last detail, I provided it.¡± he yawned.

    ¡°This is unacceptable. What are these numbers?¡± she asked, tapping the row marked Muzzle Energy.

    ¡°That¡¯s how much force the bullet-¡± he started.

    ¡°I know what muzzle energy means, I have internet on my phone.¡± She interrupted, showing the chart. ¡°Why is this number so low? This is shit. This is¡­22 pistol.¡±

    ¡°Yea, it¡¯s a 22 caliber pistol cartridge, honey.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± she fumed. ¡°I mean plinking 22 round, not 5.7FN cartridge. Why is this so weak?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You asked for, and I quote because I wrote it down. 100 rounds. 5.7x28mm caliber, most powerful, accurate SUBSONIC for suppressor. Custom if necessary. And I said Custom IS necessary if you want a good subsonic for the 5.7. This is a custom shop, I made custom rounds exactly as you specified. The problem is that it¡¯s a skinny damn bullet and the biggest commercial 22 bullet I can get are the hundred grain Spitzer. If I add more than 6 grains of powder, it¡¯s not subsonic anymore. So you¡¯re pushing the limit here as it is and 150 yards for that caliber is iffy, let alone slowed down.¡±

    ¡°I did research, 5.7 is accurate at 300 yards, heavier bullet means more power and range while still subsonic. You can¡¯t make heavier bullets and use full amount of powder?¡± she asked.

    ¡°¡­no. There¡¯s barely enough room in the case for the powder I got in there, and that¡¯s a damn subsonic projectile for AK74 reloads. They don¡¯t make 22 caliber projectiles any heaver than that. The bullet damn near touches the bottom of the brass, it¡¯s a thin jacketed lead round and lead is about as heavy as it gets. Unless you got a single shot bolt action that¡¯s custom-made with a way longer bolt, that¡¯s it. It won''t feed longer. Anything sticking further out the case, won¡¯t fit in a magazine, anything thicker won¡¯t fire out of a 22, and any hotter powder won¡¯t be subsonic and to get maxed out power you need to not have a damn long bullet all the way down the case. This is just not a round designed for long range OR full power subsonic, let alone a subsonic long range.¡± He shrugged

    ¡°I read from a reliable source about a 400-yard shot made with a 5.7, using a suppressor. So how does this become achievable?¡± she asked, reciting the police records on one of Mike''s kills.

    ¡°It¡¯s not. Unless someone is using magic fancy gunpowder hotter than they make on the market, and some¡­alien metal bullets that are way heavier than anything you can get in lead, the laws of physics are in the way here. I don¡¯t know what you want from me. Nothing is heavier than solid lead, the brass cartridge is as full as it gets for subsonic projectiles that damn big, in a space that damn small. At 300 yards it¡¯s gonna be dropping 12 feet or better, and hit like a little 22 short pocket pistol.¡±

    ¡°Fine¡­ what is effective range with these? Say, small deer, headshot.¡±

    ¡°I dunno, if you aim 5 feet high and have absolutely no wind, hit dead flat on the side of the skull, 200 yards MIGHT be possible. You¡¯re still hitting like a 22 pistol but maybe a slightly spicy 22. You ever think about just getting a bigger gun or hunting smaller game?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± she said angrily flopping down the cash and grabbing the box, trudging out and feeling like a joke. ¡°I like my gun, and I like my deer.¡±

    ¡°Better get closer or aim 5 feet above the eye socket then.¡± He said as she walked out. ¡°Fuckin novice shooters, thinking they know everything they googled online. Got news for you honey, nobody is taking down a deer with a 5.7 at 300 yards, let alone subsonic.¡± He muttered, shaking his head as Mike entered a minute or so later.

    ¡°Good afternoon.¡± Mike smiled.

    ¡°Was one, till just now. You can¡¯t believe the crazy people I get in here and what they ask for.¡± the owner chuckled.

    ¡°I bet I could imagine. Hopefully I¡¯m not one of them. I need a long range gun for deer hunting.¡± Mike said looking at the rack.

    ¡°Gotta be in a pistol round and dead silent?¡± he chuckled. ¡°Sorry, weird day.¡±

    ¡°I was thinking more 7mm Remington Magnum, doesn¡¯t need to be quiet. Needs to shoot flat as hell, so an old fart with glasses can hit something.¡± Mike said.

    ¡°I hear ya there. You got a budget range?¡±

    ¡°Money is not a problem.¡± He grinned.

    ¡°You love to hear that these days. You need this bad boy. X-bolt max LR is about the flattest thing I got in 7mm mag. With that scope, that¡¯s a 2 grand rifle.¡±

    ¡°Is it bore sighted in or just cold mounted?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Bore sighted in, zeroed for a hundred, I¡¯ll guarantee that thing to 600 yards, past that you gotta fine tune a little." the owner shrugged.

    ¡°Right, like I¡¯m taking a shot past 500. I¡¯ll take it, gimme some paper targets, a box of Hornady SST. Any extra magazines?¡±

    ¡°I can order some, but just the 3 round mag in the gun at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Shit. I¡¯ll just¡­pray harder, miss less.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°I can get them in stock in 2 days.¡± the owner added.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m heading out in about 5 minutes to go hunting. The girlfriend and I just got invited to shoot with a friend, he¡¯s from out of town, we didn¡¯t get much notice. .¡±

    ¡°Pretty last minute.¡± The owner nodded.

    ¡°You are not shitting me. I would have loved a little more heads up. He kinda just showed up and hit us with this situation broadside. I¡¯m just doing this for her.¡± Mike smiled.

    ¡°Your gal happen to be about 5 foot 8, blue hair, weird accent?¡± he asked.

    ¡°¡­No. What an oddly specific guess. 5 foot 2, short haired brunette, the sweetest little gal I ever knew. I¡¯d move the world for her, so what¡¯s a little cash and rushed hunting trip compared to that?¡± he shrugged. ¡°And a hat. Throw in a hat. She¡¯s paying. Her grandfather is more loaded than these guns.¡±

    ¡°Well good luck. Hope you get something good.¡±

    ¡°Oh I¡¯ll be amazed if I do, but one can hope.¡± Mike said, filling the paperwork and signing.

    The range was quiet, a desert stretch of nothing with a cooler and some blankets out like a sniper''s picnic.

    Mike and Nadja sprawled out behind their guns, the matte black hunting rifle at Mike¡¯s shoulder and what resembled an oversized pink and black Uzi in front of her, with an uncomfortable aluminum folding stock and a suppressor the size of the gun itself. She slapped in a full magazine of armor piercing black tips and took aim, the sudden roar of the rifle next to her jarring her slightly as her gun made a softer little hiss of two rapid shots.

    ¡°CUSH SOBACH¡¯YA!¡± she barked, watching dirt kick up way low of the 200 yard target. Mike struck paper, still disappointed with half his rounds missing the head from 500 yards.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you glad I moved your paper closer?¡± he asked.

    ¡°This gun is terrible.¡±

    ¡°The gun is fine. The caliber is not right.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°I like the caliber. Caliber is fine.¡± She insisted. ¡°How do you do that?¡± she added.

    ¡°With a lot of squinting. Everything is blurry and wobbly.¡± He complained, switching to his MPX. He got into position with an empty magazine, 3 strange silvery white rounds between his left hand fingers like demonic brass knuckles.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°What are those? How does that even fit in the magazine?¡± she asked, losing interest in her own shooting.

    ¡°They don''t. That¡¯s the problem.¡± He said firing a round as the chamber kicked back and stayed open. He took his left hand off grip position, spinning one of the rounds from between his fingers and poking it into the open receiver manually, and then pressing the bolt release that sprung forward just before he fired again, the bolt staying open, no shell ejecting. Mike shoved another round in, repeating it 3 times. ¡°Yea, that¡¯s about the same speed. Way more awkward to load and a little slower, but that¡¯s 2out of 3 rounds in the head."

    ¡°What¡­is this not 45 ACP gun or is it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s 45 when I want it to be. Unscrew that 19 inch barrel insert and put a Glock 21 magazine in there and yes, it¡¯s a 45. Full auto, folds down to 22 inches. Spring loaded stock, 6 pounds. But she¡¯s beefed up to handle about the same power as the rifle I just bought in a magnum rifle caliber, just drop in the 7mm barrel insert and screw it on. Almost the same energy, with a 32 percent lighter solid brass bullet made on a CNC lathe and pointed like a needle. I¡¯m probably getting 500 feet per second more velocity out of this gun. It¡¯s shooting way flatter, but the scope sucks in comparison.

    ¡°So why did you buy the other rifle?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t. You did. I wasn¡¯t about to drop 2 grand proving my gun is slightly better than a 2 thousand dollar gun, and you wouldn¡¯t believe me if I claimed it. I¡¯m switching scopes, though. This is a way better scope. Sorry sweetheart, but I can always use new guns for parts, and you were paying the bill.¡±

    ¡°So why not just use better scope to begin with? Why not make a gun with a larger clip? And why are the damn aluminum bullets so much quieter and smaller if just as powerful?¡±

    ¡°Because I can¡¯t fit that rifle under my coat and hide it with the bigger scope. The reason I didn¡¯t design a gun with a bigger magazine is because it would end up being a bigger gun and not fit under my coat, and I didn¡¯t build this gun anyway. Sig built this gun. I bought an aftermarket kit to 45ACP convert it, and then made the parts that needed to be tougher out of tougher shit, bigger springs, thicker bolt lugs, fatter chamber ported barrel. Integrated gas system, recoil reduction and noise reduction. It¡¯s easier to modify a gun that works than invent one that might not. Here.¡± He said digging a bullet out of the bag, equally long and odd looking but with a much blunter tip and dark brown. He popped it into the gun and casually fired it, with the clink of the slide being the loudest part of the shot.

    ¡°What happened? Misfire?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°Nope. Fired fine. That¡¯s how quiet it is with a 454 grain copper jacket round filled with tungsten carbide powder. You¡¯d never hear the shot. That¡¯s how I did the Mister Black Jobs.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you not using those all the time?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Aside from the fact that they take forever to make, the accuracy isn¡¯t as consistent as a brass solid, and they¡¯re expensive as shit to practice with, They have to be hand fed into the gun. And did you see where I hit the paper?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No.¡± she said.

    ¡°Ne neither. At 500 yards, I¡¯d be lobbing it 25 feet up in the air like a damn grenade, hoping to hit somewhere kinda near something. The 50 cal had more range, but sadly Gwen is retired now. I overheated the receiver during the safehouse massacre. The fact that it didn¡¯t blow up in my face was a miracle. Even out of this gun, these rounds vaporize on impact and do some vile shit to soft targets, but on quality body armor that just won''t penetrate, even if you did mortar it into the sky and actually hit someone. Now at 200 yards with a 3-foot-high adjustment, that hits like a 357 magnum and sounds like a humming bird wink. These brass solids are 3 times as powerful, less bullet, more room for propellant. More accurate and at 500 yards, instead of dropping 25 to 28ish feet, I¡¯m aiming 33 inches up and hitting right in the face¡­when I don¡¯t shake. This gun could reach out and end you at a thousand, no problem. Me on the other hand¡­well, only with divine intervention. You see, the right bullet is everything. Your gun shoots the wrong bullet for this job. Carl probably has an M200 Intervention with double the range of my Sig, and he¡¯s 20-something years younger. That¡¯s why I wasn¡¯t shooting back. Knowing this is how I do on my best days on a stationary target, I placed myself, with low wind and nobody shooting back, and after seeing you shoot. We¡¯re both fucked unless we get him within 200 yards, preferably point-blank. I may be a little disappointing this far out. But you¡¯ve seen me perform up close. Now you tell me if I can still operate in a building with a handgun.¡± He said confidently, with that look of cocky edge he was known for.

    ¡°There is that charismatic little bastard I met the other night. You know I did try to kill you. I was not going easy. If I went easy, I wouldn¡¯t know if you were the real deal. But you hesitated. Why?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t. It was just an off night.¡± he lied slyly

    ¡°No it wasn¡¯t. You had me twice. You waited once thinking I wouldn¡¯t risk moving, and you got distracted the other time by Tanner, because you didn¡¯t know if I could kill her before you could kill me. You hesitated. Did Mister Black hesitate¡­before Tanner was around?¡± she asked darkly.

    ¡°Fine. I hesitated. You¡¯re very distracting, and sometimes when I don¡¯t prepare for a gunfight and have my plan figured out, I get shaky. You ever tried to get blood pressure medicine after moving out of state illegally with no doctor, on the run from cops? I ran out, I¡¯ve been cutting them in half. Still get anxiety attacks.¡±

    ¡°Excuses. Michael, you are still fighting your inner monster. Tanner makes you weak because you don''t fear death, but you fear HER death. You are not old and shaky, you are suppressing your inner demon and weakening yourself. When they had Tanner and you had 30 men armed and ready to kill you, were you shaking then?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not a clue. I went in drunk and ready to die. I didn¡¯t have the luxury of caring. No choice but to go all out.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s always a choice. What made you go from shaky old man to poor Deacon¡¯s worst nightmare? An infamous hitman half your age who would have killed you at the slightest hesitation if you did. Yet you walked away and police found him mangled like an animal had caught him in its teeth. Tanner did not kill him. This old man hesitating and holding back did not either.¡± She said, suddenly grabbing his shoulder tightly and placing her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, lightly scratching with her lengthy nails. ¡°That thing inside did¡­why do you bottle it up? How do you bottle it up?¡±

    ¡°That monster is like a genie, it¡¯s easy to control as long as you keep the cork on the bottle. Once you let it out, getting it back in isn¡¯t so easy. I don¡¯t like what I am when I open the bottle. I don¡¯t think, I don¡¯t plan, I don¡¯t reason, I just react and move. I find out later what I did. That¡¯s a problem any time there¡¯s something to lose or mistakes to make, but when you believe the only thing you care about is already dead and God¡¯s voice doesn¡¯t comfort you, you don¡¯t care of it consumes you. You just need to kill a lot of people.¡±

    ¡°So that is why you didn¡¯t drink with me. You don¡¯t like who you are when you drink?¡± she asked.

    ¡°When I drink, I¡¯m not me anymore. I don¡¯t check and make sure the people I¡¯m killing deserve and need to die, I don¡¯t plan my escape and my backup routs, I just wanna kill something. If I had sat and had a few drinks with you. You¡¯d be dead right now. Because I wouldn¡¯t have thought to check on Tanner and look for cover, I would have just saw red. Like a bull. Whether you shot me or not, you¡¯d have died first. The sober adrenaline and the fear lets me focus. It lets me reason, and it lets me hear God''s voice. That has saved me more than the drinking has. But when I thought Tanner was dead, I didn¡¯t want a backup plan or a way out, a way to survive and plan, I wanted blood and death and I wanted it all right there. There wasn¡¯t an innocent life in that building to worry about, and if I got killed in the process, who gave a shit? Not me. God waited in the parking lot that day, and a lot of people died. Pretty handy in that one situation, pretty disastrous on any normal Monday.¡± Mike admitted.

    ¡°So why do you care now? Why is being bad so bad? The strong survive, the weak and hesitant old men get killed before they get even older. Your life will be shorter playing hero, less fun, so many rules.¡± She whispered, leaning in close and nudging her head against his, the light click of a safety being taken off and the gleam of his pistol barrel pointed up at her face.

    ¡°Oh you¡¯re good, bitch, but you¡¯re just not good enough. Ten years ago, before I got sober, and before I ever met Tanner, sure. But I like my little killers cute, compassionate, under a moral code, and doing what they believe is right, not doing what they think is fun because the monster in her has zero restraint and monsters like you just like to kill things."

    ¡°Like US, Michael. Monsters like US. Maybe your bottled up monster would prefer me over Tanner. Maybe you should have a drink and ask him. I¡¯ve traveled a long way to meet¡­ Mister Black. That¡¯s not very nice to keep him locked up and making me wait.¡± she taunted.

    ¡°Then don¡¯t wait. Go home. Give up. I¡¯m as deadly as you point-blank, and clearly better at a distance, so I can get killed just as easily by Carl with or without you, and I don¡¯t give a shit if you go home or die here with me. Girls who control their emotions live longer, so little discipline, so few rules. All fun, no plan.¡± He said coldly mocking her while staring her down.

    ¡°Hello in there¡­¡± she playfully giggled, touching his forehead and blushing almost sarcastically, somehow. ¡°There will be time for fun. Have you not heard of balance, Holyman? Sin a little, forgive yourself? Without the sin, what is there to forgive? You have to fall to rise, Michael. Try a little compromise. Your God has made so much sacrifice to forgive your blemishes, so if you always stay clean and white like a pressed shirt, he did all that for nothing, and you didn¡¯t even get to have fun fucking up now and then. Isn¡¯t that just spitting in his face a little bit?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Damn, they weren¡¯t kidding.¡± He sighed, shaking his head and staring into her eyes.

    ¡°Who was, and about what¡­me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Genesis. The devil really was one of the most beautiful angels with the most rotten soul down deep. I just figured out why you stay so close to me.¡± he smirked.

    ¡°Why is that?¡± she asked, coyly as he leaned in beside her to do his own dark whispering.

    ¡°Because if you run over 200 yards out, I fucking have you, and you can¡¯t return fire for shit.¡± He smiled, pushing her away lightly with the pistol in his hand. She leaned away, still fearlessly grinning.

    ¡°Now Michael. Are you so sure that drunk little demon in you isn¡¯t just a little bit in control all the time? He¡¯s just behind the eyes right now. I can see him. The bottle is just your excuse to give that demon a name and a separation so you don¡¯t have to admit you¡¯re just half holy man and half sin¡­all the time. Trying to pretend it¡¯s not really you. It¡¯s just the evil liquid strengthening the spirit possessing you. Without him, you¡¯re a good person, are you not? Or are you just an incomplete person? Maybe you¡¯re a monster possessed by a good spirit, and Mister Black is too thirsty and weakened to bottle up his possessing holy man. Maybe you¡¯re just like me, but with some annoying little angel crawling around in you telling you that you¡¯re better off submissive and contained. It¡¯s afraid of you. It should be afraid of you. Deacon was afraid of you, all those people you killed were afraid of you. They were just¡­correct, and you¡¯re in denial. God did not wait in the parking lot. You just stopped believing in your imaginary god and remembered what you are. I¡¯m the one who¡¯s free. You¡¯re the one who hesitates. You¡¯re dying, I¡¯m living. You would die so much slower if you let yourself live more.¡± She said, suddenly sitting up and putting away her gun. ¡°Or you can just let the chains you made slow you down, so Carl can kill you and take Tanner to spite you. You think I am the devil? He is the one lying like a snake to your lover while I tell you the truth you don¡¯t want to hear. Let him win for all I care. If you kill him and leave with me, Tanner will be safe, she is no threat to me. If he kills you, is she ever safe? You became yourself once to save her, so why is this any different? Did little Tanner fear you that night, look at that monster and recoil away, or did she embrace you and call that monster her hero?¡± she said, turning and wiggling her ass the whole way to the truck. Mike¡¯s eyes were more focused on the sights lined up with her head, two temptations at the same time, but the slight urge to pull the trigger seemed so much harder to resist for some reason. Was it because she was right, or because he just knew she was evil and deserved it. Mike firmly shouldered the MPX and switched on the thermal scope¡­ 77.6 degrees, and his trigger finger simply froze in place.

    "God, damn it." he sighed, taking his finger off.

 Chapter 9: Burying Combustibles

    Tanner looked bored in the church basement, the old 70''s beige vinyl floor stained from decades of use, the drab fake wood wallpaper, the brown couch and the decades old TV it''s wooden enclosure playing reruns of free public channels. Staring at the locker with her own temptation, she could feel her neglected guns calling to her as the big bald guy watched her every move.

    ¡°You know, being a prisoner is super fun. You should really try it, we could switch.¡± she shrugged sarcastically.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a prisoner. This is for your own safety. When the problem is resolved, you will be free to go.¡±

    ¡°You mean when 1 to 3 people are dead, and it could be Mike in that possible 3? After that I¡¯m not a prisoner anymore, so it¡¯s totally fine, I should just relax and enjoy this luxurious church granny basement?¡± she snipped.

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just wait patiently? Carl has a very well-designed plan, and he¡¯s studied his opponent well. If Mike is as good as you think, maybe he¡¯ll be fine too.¡± said the bald giant.

    ¡°I can¡¯t even help? I¡¯ve killed like 10 people without help, some of them armed better than me. I¡¯m small, but I¡¯m wiry and mean, and I¡¯ll cut a bitch.¡±

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why they both felt you¡¯d be safer here. Never bring a knife girl to a gun fight.¡± He said coldly.

    ¡°Boy, it¡¯s like I¡¯d have guns if they weren¡¯t locked up, dumbshit. Then I¡¯d be bringing guns to a gun fight where we outnumber Nadja 3 to 1. Kinda hard to shoot 3 people at once, harder than shooting 2, and I¡¯m a decent shot. Why does everyone treat me like a fucking child?¡± she barked, ¡°I¡¯m an adult, I¡¯m just borderline child-SIZED, but if kids my size can shoot people in war, I sure as hell can contribute in this one. Let me go, I¡¯ll tell them I snuck out. I can dart you, it¡¯s not that bad, and I¡¯ve been darted twice now. This is abuse and male chauvinism right here. You¡¯re twice my size and can¡¯t guard me without your gun? I''m so vulnerable I can''t be in the fight, but I''m SOOOO scary you have to be armed to guard me? Just a big ol bitchboi aren¡¯t ya Mister Clean?¡±

    ¡°If it was my call, I¡¯d dart you just to shut you up, but I have orders to only use that option if necessary, if you try and escape. So please¡­pretty please, try and escape.¡± He said calmly as she stood cross-armed with an attitude, pausing to debate her options.

    ¡°... I¡¯m telling mike you said that. I probably wouldn¡¯t have to if you let me go, but if you don¡¯t, I¡¯m definitely mentioning that later, and you¡¯re gonna shot right in the asshole. Do you really want that, you kinky freak? Right in the asshole. Do you? You¡¯re nasty. I do not like you.¡± she muttered.

    ¡°You have no idea.¡± He sneered.

    ¡°Okay, cut the shit. Who are you? I¡¯ve got my own serial killer title and could take down most assholes your size, so why exactly should I be intimidated by you? I feel like if you don¡¯t even have a reputation or title yet, you¡¯re probably not worth listening to. So enlighten me, Lurch. Why are you soooo scary that I should just shut up and sit down?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a name, because the cops don''t even knows my victims were murdered. I make it look like an accident, the police just have a series of cases, no proof they¡¯re even connected or which ones are even intentional. Sometimes I even leave survivors, but they¡¯ll never be the same after all that smoke in their lungs and covered in burns. I¡¯m just a rumor.¡± He taunted. ¡°And rumors hurt people.¡± He added as her expression changed from snippy to serious. He chuckled at the shift in her mannerisms, knowing she was a lot quieter all of a sudden.

    ¡°So you¡¯re one who burns people alive? The one they whisper about, and half the killers don''t even think you''re real. That¡¯s actually good to know.¡± She said

    ¡°Good to know before you made a mistake, hu?¡± he boasted.

    ¡°No, not exactly.¡± She said, rushing him and leaping at his face, sticking to him like glue and grabbing the gun before he could even get it out of the holster, blood running from his neck. ¡°Because you¡¯re not a quick-draw gun guy, and you brought a toy-gun to a knife fight.¡± She smiled, stepping back as he slid down the wall, holding the blade in his neck, Tanner now holding the dart gun. ¡°Oh don¡¯t pull that out, you¡¯ll die faster. See the knife is actually pretty dull, but it¡¯s pointy as shit, it¡¯s more of a stabber than a cutter, but it¡¯s preventing the blood from just pouring out. I had to know who I was dealing with. Some poor jackass getting paid to do this? I don¡¯t wanna kill some hired rando. Some gun-slinging cowboy that¡¯s gonna get a shot off before I can grab the gun? That¡¯s no good either. I probably couldn''t get away if I tried if you were one of those killers. I don¡¯t even feel bad killing an arsonist who killed a family of 4 for fun. That¡¯s fucked up, man. If you were even kind of a decent human being I¡¯d have to get the gun first and dart you and that¡¯s a risky move for me. I can''t wait till Mike hears that taping a little knife to my inner thigh actually paid off. Only a sex offender is gonna even look for that. You¡¯re just some Arson boy that¡¯s killed kids. Now¡­give me the keys to the locker, and I¡¯ll yell for help before I run. As long as you stay calm and hold that knife there, you¡¯re probably going to survive this, but not if you pass out before they find you.¡± She said, squatting down, holding out her hand. He shakily dug in his jacket and handed her the keys. Tanner tilted her head with disappointment. ¡°Damn you¡¯re stupid.¡± She said, yanking out the knife and delivering 3 quick additional stabs to the throat, wiping it off on his sleeve. ¡°Like I¡¯m gonna just leave my crotch-knife in your neck after it came in handy? I like this knife. They really just hire whichever babysitter does it for less, don¡¯t they?¡± she sighed, checking the body for anything useful, finding car keys, a lighter, nothing much else of value. She opened the locker and grabbed her bag, loading up the modified machine pistol in 7mm Preacher caliber, sticking in the big 50 round mag and locking out the bracer.

    A young man, asleep upstairs on a couch, woke to the sound of a bolt racking and a barrel on his nose.

    ¡°Hello sunshine. You get to be my new friend.¡± Tanner grinned.

    ¡°How did¡­¡± he stuttered. Tanner held out the stained knife with one of Lurches¡¯ ear rings on it, a bit of ear still connected.

    ¡°Details aren¡¯t super important, just that you follow the rules of the game. Now it¡¯s super simple. You get to play the hostage and the driver, and I get to be the cute passenger with the gun who doesn¡¯t leave you in a ditch in like 35 little pieces, like these. If you want, we can choose different characters. You can be the dead guy in the trunk if you want.¡±

    ¡°No, those seem fine. Driver and hostage works for me.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°UUUUugh, it feels so nice to get to stab someone again, it''s been like forEVER. I could honestly go for 2 in a row, but I could just really use the hostage a little more right now. What do you drive?¡±

    ¡°The black Prius.¡± he admitted.

    ¡°What does Lurch drive?¡± she sighed, holding up the keys.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s a Camaro.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°Wow, you just barely saved it on the second try, buddy. You¡¯re doing SO much better than he did. You may actually come out of this completely fine if you keep that up. Come on, drivey-drive time. Tanner¡¯s been mean, she needs to go to confessional.¡± She said hopping in place excitedly like a kid on caffeine. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can find me a cute preacher who¡¯s comfortable around guns. I BET we can!¡±

    Mike sat in his chair and carefully stared through the magnifier, double-checking his papers as he messed with the reloading gear.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± asked Nadja, waking up from her nap.

    ¡°Just a little custom reloading. Here. You know what this is?¡± he said, tossing her a bullet.

    ¡°Of course. 9mm Makarov round. Steel case, Soviet. I did not take you for a man who would own something in this obsolete caliber.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t. Carl does. His favorite gun is a Makarov chambered Skorpion. I¡¯m making Carl some ammo.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s very sweet, but he IS trying to kill us.¡± she reminded.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say I was making them safe. This, is an exact replica of the brand he uses. He always carries the shorter ten round clip so it fits in a holster as his personal carry. He¡¯s very sentimental about it for some reason. Never goes anywhere without it. But he rarely fires it. It¡¯s a vintage gun he doesn¡¯t wanna wear out, but he trusts it. This bullet here is an empty round with a hollow bullet, and inside is a phone tracker with a hearing aide battery. Should run for 5 days or maybe a week. The other round with the red tape on the tip is a shortened case with an oversized bullet rim that will jam in the gun, and it¡¯s packed with as much plastic explosives as I can cram in the case.¡±

    ¡°So you seem to have a plan for this. Care to elaborate?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Absolutely. You¡¯re part of it. I¡¯ve texted Carl and asked to meet at a diner for terms on our little duel. He¡¯s a sucker for traditions, and he knows I won¡¯t try and kill him in a public location. I told him, if he agreed to meet and discuss things, I¡¯d show him the gun used for the Lakeshot. Seems like everyone is a fan of that.  Your part is simple, follow my lead and don¡¯t argue, let me do the rest.¡±

    Carl strolled across the parking lot, khaki jacket on even in the Texas heat to conceal his oversized holster, and a navy blue hat with a high visibility red target on it, as a sort of taunting move. He shuffled over to the parked truck where Mike and Nadja were standing, hands in his pockets and head down, walking briskly and paranoid like a drug dealer.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°The hell are you doing over here?¡± he asked discreetly. ¡°Is this even your truck?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s the diner owner¡¯s truck. It¡¯s in better view of the window, so nobody can try anything stupid, and he won¡¯t be heading to it till closing. Neutral ground where nobody¡¯s gonna be tempted to try shit.¡± Mike said.

    ¡°Smart. Not very trusting but smart. You know I wanna play this fairly, Mike. You didn¡¯t bring the gun.¡± Carl sighed, looking cheated.

    ¡°Sure I did. I got it on me.¡± Mike smiled, standing there without a case or container to fit a large rifle.

    ¡°You¡¯re dicking with me. Why? Why did you bring me here with no gun, expecting me to cooperate? I thought we were friends.¡± Carl said. Mike opened his coat, drawing an SMG from it, as Carl did a quick draw, flashing his Skorpion to remind him who was in charge.

    ¡°Relax. You wanted to see the gun. This is the gun.¡± Mike said placing Gwen in the truck bed, followed by a 20 inch integrally suppressed barrel, a detachable scope, and a strange silvery bullet.

    ¡°You¡¯re kidding me.¡± Carl said looking entertained. ¡°Forensics said it was a Barrett 50 with some kind of tungsten bullet.

    ¡°That¡¯s because they¡¯re morons and I wanted them to. How the hell do I get a Barrett 50 cal? I don¡¯t have any rifles on sale records sheets, let alone the money for that on handyman wages. I wanted them thinking it was a Barrett 50, I even left a shell at the scene I stole from a gun range someone fired from a Barrett 50 just so they¡¯d be looking for one. The rifling on Gwen here is the same as one, and once they leave the barrel there¡¯s no difference. But they were checking every vehicle for a high-powered rifle, they weren¡¯t checking every pedestrian looking for a 5-foot-long gun hidden under a winter coat, asking every old man to strip in the cold. I walked in and walked out, with that there under my coat and a round similar to that one.

    ¡°This little round?¡± he chuckled. ¡°Oh come on.¡±

    ¡°Careful, that¡¯s a solid case made of magnesium-alloy propellant. All the power and range I needed, but fit in a smaller gun.¡± He said as Carl stared him dead in the eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re not lying, are you? You¡¯re looking me dead in the eyes and telling me that exact gun with you behind it made that kill.¡±

    ¡°One hundred percent.¡± He said honestly, staring him down.

    ¡°Jesus, you really are good. I¡¯m amazed a gun that small can even handle the pressure.¡± He said, running his hand across it like someone finding an artifact. ¡°Oh shit, maybe it didn¡¯t. Is that a split in the receiver?¡± Carl noticed.

    ¡°Yea. She¡¯s designed to be modular, convert from full auto to semi auto and handle rounds from 7mm to 50 cal, but not really meant to fire 50¡¯s in a quick session. That safehouse job was her last job. Old reliable couldn¡¯t handle the pressure of the abuse. I didn''t really plan to survive that job, and I wasn''t exactly taking it easy on Gwen. So unfortunately Carl, you challenged me to a game of thousand yard dueling with a broken gun and no backup, almost doesn¡¯t seem fair." Mike shrugged.

    ¡°Please tell me you¡¯re not giving me the begging speech about how I should spare you because you¡¯re also old and broken, and can¡¯t fairly perform like you used to. Mike that¡¯s what I do. I put down old people with no purpose left. If you¡¯re that broken you need to be replaced, the team needs a leader who can operate at peak performance, not a legend who¡¯s past his prime who could shoot me in the back or muddle up a mission.¡± Carl sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to stop, I¡¯m just letting you know if you wanna do this fairly, you¡¯ll ditch the 50 and use something a bit more sporting. I just got myself a new 7mm X-bolt. It¡¯s a great gun, but it¡¯s no Lakeshot gun. Just consider dialing it down to a gentleman¡¯s caliber. Entirely up to you, and your code of honor, but now you know I¡¯m at a disadvantage, and you¡¯ve seen the legend here with a split in her side. Killing me with a huge range advantage doesn''t really prove you''re better. It just proves you have a better gun.¡± Mike taunted.

    ¡°I can respect that. The Dragunov hasn¡¯t tasted blood since Cathy, so it¡¯s only fitting we go oldschool.¡± he nodded as he noticed Nadja scanning him like she had a plan.

    ¡°Speaking of old Soviet relic¡­may I?¡± Nadja asked, eyeing the holster. ¡°Antique leather holster for Skorpion pistol¡­interesting choice."

    ¡°Very good eye.¡± He said, drawing the gun, a bit smitten by her smile and her knowledge of gun history. ¡°Nothing sexier than a girl who knows her guns. You know I wasn¡¯t trying to kill you. Just Mike.¡± he said, trying to be suave and handing her the Skorpion, as if in a trance.

    ¡°Bullshit, you went for both.¡± She chuckled. ¡°A move with balls.¡± She nodded, as Mike grabbed the gun from her and took out the magazine, kicking the round out of the chamber into his palm, and handing her the empty gun back. He looked at Carl with a smirk.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t trust her with that thing loaded. You and I wouldn¡¯t have a public shootout in the parking lot, where innocent witnesses would have to die, but she absolutely would. I made her disarm before we walked up, specifically so she wouldn''t be tempted. She¡¯s as likely to kill you at any moment your back is turned, as I am when the game is back on. Watch her closely with anything lethal.¡± He said, looking at Nadja, and with a sleight of hand, switching the magazines and holding the dummy up for Carl to see. He tucked it in his shirt-pocket to obscure the distinct scratches and identifiable details. He put his hands behind his back, as if to seem friendly, casually unloading the real magazine quietly until it was empty.

    ¡°For someone so dangerous, you seem to be almost teaming up with old Mike here. I thought you would have killed the bigger threat first.¡± He said as Mike loaded the tracker and the explosive round, and then added the 8 normal rounds back into the top, burying the hand loaded ones discreetly in the bottom of the stack of the original magazine.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill him, I want to keep him. You and I are not competing to kill Mike. He is my prize, and you are annoying fly I will enjoy swatting. He is right, you know. If he had not swiped that loaded antique, I would have killed you right now. Shooting Mike robs me of my prize before I have given up coaxing it out.¡± She said, glaring at him like the devil herself. Carl nervously locked eyes.

    ¡°Oh really? Well, maybe I should just shoot you in the back as you walk away. See, Mike and I have a gentleman''s code we follow. You may not believe in God or respect, but we do. I told HIM I wouldn¡¯t shoot him under a hundred yards, because he won¡¯t cheat either. That¡¯s a man¡¯s word, sweetheart. You¡¯re a wild card and a psychopath, I don¡¯t mind blasting you in the back of the head right now to save my own ass. That¡¯s self-defense. Preemptive strike.¡± Carl sneered.

    ¡°Now kids¡­¡± Mike said, switching the magazines in his pocket as he bent over to pick up Gwen, Carl distracted by Nadja''s cold gaze and exposed cleavage. ¡°Let¡¯s not fight over me. You can both flip a coin. Nadja won¡¯t kill me, because she seems to think I have a devil in me, ready to come out and play. She wants Mister Black, not Preacher Mike. That¡¯s her schoolgirl crush. She¡¯s not about you steal your kill, Carl, and frankly I¡¯ve seen her shoot, she¡¯s not that good past pistol range. Now sweetheart¡­if Carl can kill me, then I¡¯m not the badass you really want anyway. So he just saved you some time. And Carl, a gentleman doesn¡¯t shoot an unarmed lady in the back. I sure as shit don''t let her carry loaded around me, and if I did, you¡¯d already be dead. If one of you kills me, then fuck it. You two do whatever you want. Until then, you¡¯re safe from her and if your young inexperienced ass can kill me fairly, with that old Dragunov against a new 7mm Remington Magnum bolt-action, then you deserve the throne. So everyone just chills out and, Nadja, let the men have their duel. WHEN I kill him, you may get to see Mister Black. So we¡¯re all friends here.¡± He said, reaching out for the Skorpion, taking it from Nadja¡¯s hand and placing the magazine back in, cocking it and putting the safety on before handing it back to Carl. The bomb and tracker buried deep in the bottom. ¡°So, let¡¯s resume the game fairly.¡± He said, tucking Gwen under his coat and giving Carl an eyebrow raise. ¡°See you soon, Carl.¡± Mike finished, making his way back to his truck as Nadja followed and Carl watched her ass move side to side, his trigger hand slightly itchy for a cheap shot to the spine but knowing Mike would disapprove and possibly fire back, well within his close range specialty.

    Nadja sighed and looked at mike with a strangely conflicted expression.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to cover for me.¡± She said to Mike as they walked. ¡°I could see he was dying to shoot me the moment I said I wanted you alive. He respects you. If you had told him to kill me, or simply let him, he would have done it for you. You wasted your chance to get rid of me. Are you a fool or are you plotting something?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You know I¡¯m plotting something against everyone at every moment, but Carl is a bigger threat than you are right now because you want me alive, and you¡¯re as likely to kill him later as I am. So that makes us allies for now. After Carl is dead, your motives may change or your patience may run out, when you can''t break me. We can worry about who might turn on who after that. In the meantime, we have his location, and he never goes anywhere without that gun, and the original magazine that fits the holster to that old museum piece. I plan to get him somewhere under a hundred yards and kill him up close. If he suspects my double-cross, then he¡¯s got 8 rounds to do it before that thing blows up in his face, like god himself didn¡¯t want him to do it.¡± Mike smirked.

    ¡°You preach to him about gentleman respect and then set him up with cheat. Michael, keep lying to yourself that you¡¯re the hero and not just Mister Black wearing a preacher¡¯s mask to sleep at night. You¡¯re as cold-blooded as I am. There is no honor code when you choose to ignore it. You just hide it well, which is exactly what a devil in a preacher¡¯s costume would do.¡± She smiled, hanging on his arm like they were best friends. He shook her off, like an insect he didn''t want touching him, or feared might be venomous.

    ¡°I¡¯m nothing like you. I have a code, you just don''t understand it. Carl has Tanner and I don¡¯t trust him. When you touch Tanner, the fairness and respect and gentleman goes out the window. He didn¡¯t challenge me, he left me no choice by taking a hostage, Someone I love. When you do that, you''ve already the code and the rules are mine to break. He¡¯ll find that out when I empty a handgun into his ribs at point-blank and send him to hell. If he left Tanner out of it, you¡¯d see a gentleman''s duel. He just fucked with my darker side.¡± Mike darkly exhaled.

    ¡°Tell me again how your demon is so very deep down and only comes out when you drink. He¡¯s driving right now. I can see your eyes change when you think of Tanner in danger. Mike is her lover, Mister black is her guard dog. Maybe Mike can just sit this out and Mister Black can have a little fun.¡± She said, leaning in and playfully nipping at his neck.

    ¡°Get behind me Satan, for I have shit to do, and your temptations are cheap and repetitive. If I¡¯m just Mister Black in a preacher¡¯s costume, you think I wouldn¡¯t have just nailed you to the table when I had the offer, and then just let Mike go guilt free?¡± he asked. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of quality ass in half the strip clubs in town, and nobody would say a word if I went wild for a night. Tanner would never know if I had my way with you and left you dead after. I made my choice already. We might not have exchanged rings or signed papers, but Mike belongs to Tanner and Mister Black is just a pesky little thing buried down there under MY control. I let him out in that safehouse because I chose to, and I put him back in because I was done with him the moment Tanner was safe and out of there. He answers to me, and he fought for Tanner too that night. Don¡¯t think you have any power over me with that swagger and that allure of yours. You¡¯re a cheap thrill I could get elsewhere if I wanted, and I don¡¯t want it. And if you even consider using Tanner as bait to bring him out, you absolutely will, and he won¡¯t come out to be your friend, he¡¯ll cut you apart like a snake in the grass that thought she could seduce the lawnmower.¡±

    ¡°I do love it when you threaten me. But I can see in your eyes that whatever is behind it would prefer something less timid than Tanner. So if he¡¯s listening in there. She¡¯s safe, and she¡¯s the preacher¡¯s girl. So come out and claim one of your own when you have the chance. You think I don¡¯t have faith in anything? I have faith in that. I want to see that dark side betray Carl, and when he is done, he¡¯ll BEG for some of this¡­cheap thrill, that a sad preacher doesn¡¯t feel tempted by because of love. You¡¯ll see. He is stronger than you. Tanner is not his type, She¡¯s just yours, Michael.¡± Nadja whispered. "And you are the pet, you just resist, well...for now."

 Chapter 10: Powder and Keg

    Mike stood in the hotel bathroom staring at the mirror, grinding up half a pill in his mortar and pestle and carefully pouring it into a metal pill container, placing it next to his tooth brush. There was a knock on the door.

    ¡°Occupied. Use the one in the U-haul¡­or a bucket.¡± He yawned.

    ¡°I¡¯m not using stupid tiny shower, hurry up. You can use your own mobile home to do whatever you¡¯re doing.¡± Nadja insisted.

    ¡°Yes, Queen. Off with my head.¡± He sarcastically said, feeling the strange urge to have a pistol in hand. She shoved past him as the door closed, checking herself in the mirror as he left. She scrolled on her phone, noticing the little metal vial and getting curious. She unscrewed the lid and tipped it to see what fell out, not expecting loose powder. She jumped and carefully tried to pour it back in, realizing she lost half of it on the wet counter and half on her hands. She stared down angrily.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± She sighed. Sniffing what was already on her hands and wiping the counter clean, digging in her purse and getting her own stash. She carefully estimated the nail full of coke and adding it back in so he wouldn¡¯t notice. She cleaned the remainder off her nail with a sniff and got undressed. As the shirt pulled up, the scars on her back and hash marks tattooed on became visible. A nearly symmetrical canvas of mirrored ink and symbolism, as well as rose bushes connecting everything. She rubbed one shoulder, a faded tattoo of something blue with the stippling of a close range pistol entrance wound that healed long ago.

    There was a knock. Nadja sighed and hesitated.

    ¡°It¡¯s open.¡± She replied, prompting Mike to enter and stop shy of the naked body in front of him.

    ¡°Not what I came in here for.¡± He said, diverting his gaze as she seemed almost disappointed. He grabbed his pill container and stepped back out.

    ¡°Mike¡­you¡¯re welcome.¡± she grinned.

    ¡°For what?¡± he asked.

    ¡°The little bonus treat.¡± She smirked. He sighed and made his leave, assuming she meant the eye candy rather than the nose candy. ¡°Like you notice anything, apparently.¡± She sighed, feeling unappreciated, grabbing a robe and following him.

    ¡°Mike, everyone has a little fun, it¡¯s not a big deal.¡± She said, snorting and wiping her nose. A little sin nobody knows about hurts nobody, Da?"

    ¡°Fuck your fun, your fun needs to stay separated from mine.¡±

    ¡°For a preacher, you¡¯re not very forgiving.¡± she snipped.

    ¡°That¡¯s God¡¯s job, not mine. I never wanted you in my life. I have everything under exact control and every temptation right where it needs to be, but now Tanner is not safe around you or Carl, and she was my supply of happiness. You can¡¯t just replace everything that¡¯s missing and expect me to not notice the difference. I¡¯m just stuck with you, for the moment.¡±

    ¡°No you¡¯re not. You could kill me and then kill Carl without me. You don¡¯t trust that I am an ally any more than a threat and yet while you plant bombs in his guns and plan to cheat, you don¡¯t even kill me when you have the chance. If something tempts you, get rid of it, don¡¯t hide it in small doses.¡± She said, shoving the pistol against his chest, flat, open palmed as he took it. ¡°Shoot me.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± he asked. ¡°Why toy with temptation?¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s fun to play with temptation, and I don¡¯t think you can do it. You hate me, but Mister Black finds me alluring, as you say.¡±

    ¡°Oh he definitely finds you tempting but to kill, not to fuck. Preacher Mike doesn¡¯t kill what he doesn¡¯t have to, or what he¡¯s not told to. God wants you alive and that¡¯s why you are. If I let Mister Black decide what to do, you wouldn¡¯t like the result, because it would make things so much simpler to just take you out.¡±

    ¡°Maybe after my shower, I¡¯ll slip into something and go to the bar downstairs. If you wanna take me out, I¡¯ll be ready.¡± She smiled.

    He stormed off, debating his options. The thermals never lied before, no voice told him to kill, no voice told him to refrain. It was as if God was just remaining silent for him to figure it out on his own, like a test. He watched her through the scope as she made her way down the sidewalk, ice cold and dressed to kill.

    She sat bored in the bar, getting up and returning. She followed the emptiness through the hotel room and to the parking lot, where the sound of a machine humming lead to the U-haul. She knocked on the back door.

    ¡°Busy.¡± Mike hollered.

    ¡°Michael, open the door.¡± She said firmly, the sound of concern in her voice giving him some strange impulse to open it. Almost as if he was used to automatically opening it to the sound of a female voice demanding entry during his brooding time. She stepped in, noticing the mess. Metal dust and the MPX laying on a towel, as he aggressively filed on something in the vise. ¡°What are you working on?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Why do you care?¡± he replied.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter why, I just do. You have not slept, or relaxed, have you even eaten in the last day?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t need to relax, I¡¯m not going to starve. I have protein shakes and beef jerky. Eating and sleeping poorly won''t kill me in a week, Carl might kill me in 3 hours.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re scared? I would not have expected that from you.¡± she scoffed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid to die. I¡¯m afraid to leave Tanner with him when I do. Right now, she¡¯s not safe. I told her to lay low because I thought YOU were the bigger threat, but I see now you¡¯re just a broken doll with a selfish fixation. You don¡¯t even see her as a threat. Carl on the other hand says he has her in a safe house, and after he kills me he¡¯ll take care of her, whatever that means. Lie to her, twist her faith around, or maybe he¡¯ll just kill her. That¡¯s why I don¡¯t kill you, despite you probably deserving it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re more concerned about him hurting her than me killing you. I¡¯m as likely an ally as an enemy, and he is got your Tanner. Flattering. So what are you making to distract yourself?¡±

    ¡°Perfecting the MPX. I had planned to build a totally new system at some point, but never had the time.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s already sniper rifle, machine gun, hide-under coat gun, with more ammo than anything else. What is missing? Rocket launcher?¡±

    ¡°Considered it, actually. Grenade rounds of some kind. Unfortunately, what it lacks is shotgun capability. I¡¯ve been experimenting with some small 45 caliber shotshells that fire small hockey pucks in a stack, Calling it Puckshot. Full power payload, no wasted airspace from round buckshot, and they fit, but this gun was never designed for 2 and half inch long shell, it¡¯s made to handle pistol rounds half that length. The long action can take it, and I''ve widened the ejector length, but the magazine won¡¯t hold it, so luckily with a combustible case there¡¯s nothing to eject, and I can force-feed them in like a single shot. Just like the sniper rifle alternative rounds you saw the other day, but hand loading each one, fumbling shells around and then releasing the bolt and getting back on target is getting to be a pain in the ass when I start shaking.¡± He said holding up the foot long tube with a little bolt knob and a piece of aluminum crudely welded to the side, with 2 holes in it.

    ¡°You¡¯re just¡­building a repeating shotgun that fits on the MPX?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t have the time or materials to build a whole new gun, can''t adapt this to fit a magazine for rounds I just recently invented. But, I can load a pump shotgun faster than a single shot. I welded a piece of pipe to one of the removable pitacinny rails. Essentially, instead of a laser or flashlight on the side, I have a tube with 4 shotgun shells or 4 sniper rounds. Spring holds them to the back and when you push this knob forward¡­¡± he said, demonstrating and kicking a shell out. ¡°Basically force-feeds into the open chamber, and it hits the bolt release and closes the action. It¡¯s not quite a bolt action shotgun, not quite a pump action shotgun, but it¡¯s a 4 shot quick reloadable shotgun I can use. It¡¯s comparable to a 12 gauge.¡±

    ¡°How is THIS¡­¡± she said holding it up implying its skinny 45 caliber ¡°As good as 12 gauge?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say it was a replacement, more of an alternative option. Roughly the same power, 850 grain payload in the form of 8 domed lead pucks. Round balls don¡¯t fit well in a tube, there¡¯s a lot of air, this is a stack of the same weight and number of projectiles with no wasted air. So it should hit with the same power as a 12 gauge but with in a 45 caliber barrel...more or less."Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    ¡°Does it spread out the same?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not a fucking clue. They¡¯re bound to tumble and make a nastier wound, but they may spread out so quickly that after 50 yards you¡¯re not going to hit anything intentionally. Unfortunately, the first time I test these will be in combat. But 4 rounds of kinda buckshot beats zero rounds of great buckshot. And this fits on my existing gun and is barely any larger. So why NOT have 4 shotgun shells on stand by?¡±

    ¡°How do you think up these things?¡± Nadja asked, baffled and intrigued.

    ¡°Insanity, brilliance, undiagnosed autism, voice of God, take a pick, I¡¯m guessing too. You¡¯ve got some strange setup on your guns as well. Yes, I¡¯ve been snooping around in your stuff. Lightened the triggers, elongated them for that two finger finger-drumming technique of yours. Pretty impressive work for hardware store hotel gunsmithing. Where did you learn that?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Brilliant insanity, voice of the devil?¡± she smirked. ¡°I was not allowed real guns when I was ten, but my father wanted me to learn. American paintball gun. Harmless, but good practice. I watched videos and learned to shoot quickly. When I was 15 he got me my first pistol. American Five Seven. He said it was the future of sidearms, and he insisted I practice daily. I could not shoot as fast with single trigger, so I cut the guard down. He was furious, of course, and beat me senseless, as he tended to do. So I proved to him this was an improvement. I put two rounds in his back as he had morning coffee. Apparently I did not ruin the gun after all, he didn''t even draw his gun. I could never decide if I preferred the SS198 hollowpoint or the 190 armor piercing black tip. One always seemed superior depending on if your target was wearing a vest or not, so as you say, spoiled brat who gets anything she wanted, I just chose both. It¡¯s better to use armor piercing on someone with no vest than to use hollowpoint on some with one, so I started loading every other round, black tip always on top, and fire 2 rounds like they were a single shot. The next time I fire, always black tip first, and no matter what they are wearing, one of the rounds will do what it is designed to do best. And 5.7 holds a lot of ammo. You can have everything you want, Michael. Choosing is for people who settle. Choosing is for people who follow rules and listen to orders, even though they do better with what they wanted. You never settled for a gun, you made your own ones, made them do what you wanted, much like me. Even now, you cannot settle for a shotgun or your favorite MPX, so you just fuck the rules and add shotgun. So why do you let a voice tell you who to kill and not who you decide? Why do you settle for a schoolgirl you need to babysit when you can have someone experienced like yourself? Someone with a darker side who knows what they want, not some¡­little cheerleader with pocket knives and problems listening? You say you believe in her, but you fear she cannot handle some stupid cult brainwashing? She is ready to kill but cannot handle Carl, who we both know is far more distracted than you are with a little skin and eye shadow. Is that not how she hunts? Tanner is safer than you are, and if you die, I bet she would avenge you rather than believe Carl¡¯s lies and throw away her faith you have taught her. She is fine, you are, on the other hand, a bit of a mess, a little fun might save your sanity.¡± She sighed. "A little sin for the soul. Lesser of two evils"

    ¡°Not with you, and especially not until this is over. The feed tube doesn¡¯t fit right, it hits the damn barrel end cap because I measured wrong and if I shorten it any, I start over and lose one of my only 4 shells.¡± He said, frantically filing the rough gouge out of the pipe end to clear the other piece. She put her hand on his hand to stop and calm him.

    ¡°You are going to give yourself a heart attack like that. Carl is not waiting outside, you have his location on GPS, there is time to rest and time to have fun before you kill yourself from stress or ruin your focus and get killed tomorrow.¡± She said, taking the file and taking a turn carefully grooving out the end cap for him, sliding a bottle of vodka onto the table.

    ¡°I just¡­I can¡¯t trust you, but I need to know some things.¡± he sighed, sleep-deprived and annoyed.

    ¡°Why can you not trust me? Because I want you, because I am helping you, because I have not killed you and done your plan to cheat and kill Carl, or because I have been too honest, and you don¡¯t like the truth as much as you thought. We may not agree with our beliefs, but I haven¡¯t lied to you about them. I scare you because you know I may be right. I know what I shouldn¡¯t know about you.¡± she whispered devilishly.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you glow in the thermal scope like the others?¡± he asked bluntly.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± she chuckled.

    ¡°The people I kill always glow in the thermal scope, brighter than anyone else should. It¡¯s something I use to guide my kills, so I know who to shoot and who to let go. It¡¯s never failed me. Evil burns hotter. Why are you ice-cold in the scope?¡±

    ¡°Have you listened to this out loud? Have you told tanner this?¡± she asked with a strange, intrigued grin.

    ¡°She knows, but she¡­sometimes doesn¡¯t seem like she believes it.¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s in your head. Like your God¡¯s voice.¡±

    ¡°Being called crazy by a faithless psychopath.¡± He smiled back with sarcasm and defiance.

    ¡°I never said it wasn''t real. You hear a voice, but it¡¯s not God, it¡¯s You. It¡¯s that thing buried down in you, whispering from the cage you keep it in. Instinct, animal reflex. You know who needs to die, but you don¡¯t like choosing, so your mind gave it a voice you could trust to make the calls. These men that glow, it is all in your mind. Your mind knowing what needs to be done and what to refrain from, giving you the clarity you need because you believe in some higher power more than you believe in yourself. You¡¯re your own god, hiding your greatest power in a little box inside you, and listening to it when you can¡¯t make a hard choice or trust your instincts, because that would make you responsible for their deaths, and that would make you an apex predator. Another psychopath. Like me, like Tanner. You have a type, a need to seek others like you before they are too broken to fix again, and that is why you picked Tanner and protect her. You are trying to train her to control her evil side before she becomes¡­me. Yet she is a prisoner, and I am free to be what I am. What we are. Stronger. You don¡¯t kill who god tells you, you kill who you know deep down deserve to die. Tanner is not your perfect woman, she is your pet project to save and fix because she is just¡­you, long ago. Young, damaged but unlike you, she has someone helping her, so there is hope. Romantic but sad. Let me guess. You have problems in the bedroom?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s none of your business.¡± he snipped.

    ¡°You may be getting older, but you¡¯re not exactly¡­settling down. You have a lot of life left, so why doesn¡¯t she excite you? Why does she bore you? You love her, but you have tamed her to save her and made her, like a kitten. You still see her as a young girl in need of protection and love, but you don¡¯t want to corrupt her. She¡¯s still innocent to you. The thing inside you doesn¡¯t want innocent, it wants another monster like itself. So you make excuses, don¡¯t you? Too old, too tired, too busy. Not when it comes to work and protecting her, but when it comes to preying on her, she¡¯s not another predator that will play rough back and understand you. She¡¯s a little girl deep down inside, in that repressed little box you keep your worst demon, she keeps a safe little childhood Tanner. Something Mister black knows he¡¯s too dangerous for. Tell me I¡¯m wrong. Tell me you two are just crazy fucking like rabbits all day and leaving claw marks, or tell me you¡¯re really just so old and defeated that you can¡¯t perform under pressure. You can¡¯t get it up without a gun in your hand? Please." she scoffed,  "You just don¡¯t have it in you to be your true self, that monster, around an innocent girl who is afraid of them.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re not afraid of me. You WANT that monster, not me.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°I want that monster because it IS you. You are less holy man than you are devil, and once you embrace that, nothing can stop you. You¡¯re whole. Free. Like me. But if you are my equal in your restrained and struggling state, fighting yourself. What potential do you have when you stop limiting yourself? Do you really believe there is no chance I¡¯m right? Can Tanner love a monster AND a liar? Can you keep yourself broken up so you can hide part of you from her? You said she is supposed to replace you, to do your job and keep your dream alive¡­what if you don¡¯t have to die to pass that along? You just, pass it along, and stop being the Holyman. Have you not done enough for God that you can do something for Michael¡­or for Mister Black?" Nadja asked, leaning eerily close to his ear. "Because I accept them both, I just want to see them whole.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°You may be wrong about most things, but you may be right about some things. I do need to relax and live a little, I do need to accept that I¡¯m damaged and incomplete. I¡¯ve been incomplete since my wife and daughter died. Nothing will fix that. That changes you. But the similarity you see in us, may not be the darkness in me, but something good left in you that you¡¯ve locked away. Just consider that. If I can have something evil in me that I can choose to free or suppress, then you may have something good in you that you can choose to free or suppress. We¡¯re both just hanging on to the part that gives us what we want. So if you want me to consider tapping into that darkness, look into yourself and see if you¡¯re locking away something beautiful that you deny. There may be some form of hope for you, some salvation. Maybe THAT is why you don¡¯t glow and why I can¡¯t kill you. Because God, or Mike, or Mister Black, whoever knows things they shouldn¡¯t, can see that. What a waste of potential it would be if you never let out that little bit of light." he taunted back, "Is there anyone in there, Should I give it a name for you? Maybe if you sobered up and stopped drowning it, you¡¯d see that we all have different sides and choices. Maybe you need to lead by example, and practice what you preach.¡± He said, looking down to his project and tightening the screws, her hand still on his hands, and the new shotgun tube finally lining up right, smooth and flat, ready to do what it was made to do.

    "Tempting the devil back...what a bold thing you are." she smiled.

    Mike sat at the bar, ordering another Coke on the rocks and smiling at the nice bartender, seeing his reflection between the bottles. The distorted mirrors behind them cast a strange warped face looking back at him, cast in a blue light as he watched his phone. The dot moved closer. He checked the time again, still surprised that Nadja wasn¡¯t there to tease him and order shots to seductively swallow down while looking in his eyes.

    Nadja looked in the U-haul bathroom mirror, bump of coke lined up and staring back at her, she bit her lip, pondering her choices and startled by the text buzz from Mike. It simply read, ¡°Bar, now. Be armed and ready." The instinct to snort down the fuel and turn her emotions off and become a better killer seemed obvious and logical. Maybe even life-saving, since she knew it was how she did her best work. She also has the strange temptation to just leave it and try fighting without it. Even knowing it might get her killed, the risk and curiosity wouldn¡¯t stop buzzing in her mind. She scooped it up with a snort, put on her fluffy skirt and managed to stuff the entire rose-gold accented AR57 down one leg, probably hard to see in the dim bar lighting, the left side of her body strapped with Velcro and extra mags, her handgun and an emergency dose of fury dust. She put on her very mismatched black windbreaker to further hide the arsenal, and she was ready for her prom, all over again.

    "Damsel in distress is what you want, Mike... Damsel you can have." she grinned, waiting patiently.

    Carl hunkered into the bed of his truck, Dragunov sniper rifle sticking out, and chewing on some black licorice as he held his phone up.

    ¡°Team into position?¡± he asked. ¡°Good. Remember. Draw the preacher outside, don¡¯t kill him. He''s mine. Mow the bitch down with everything you got, zero mercy, don¡¯t underestimate her." He said, putting it down and adjusting for the windage between the hotel bar and the truck. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you¡¯re still bulletproof at 850 yards, Mike. May God have mercy on one of us.¡±

 Chapter 11: Mister Black

    11 men in tactical gear gathered around a central leader, pacing like a general leading his army into battle for the king. The black and urban camo they were clad in, mismatched and clearly a combination of whatever they could get online and had already, a single identifying cross freshly painted via stencil on their vest like a target, each in a different color. Armed with an assortment of AK47s and AR15¡¯s in various configurations, one man with a breaching shotgun and an Uzi strapped to his chest, stood ready for war. The obvious pack leader, wearing the more detailed golden cross paint on his vest, with similar gold paint on his mask, stopped pacing and answered his phone. The word ¡°purge¡± was written in gold marker across his mask brow, both a nickname and a mission.

    ¡°Yes Sir. You can count on us.¡± He replied to Carl, hanging up and holstering his phone under his vest. ¡°Alright, men, here are your orders. Try and avoid civilian casualties if possible, but it may not be. If you see Nadja OR the preacher, open fire, assume they¡¯re both still alive and dangerous until someone has put a bullet in their head and confirmed it. This is a one chance strike with the element of surprise as our only advantage, and once that has worn off we have no edge. Either of them still alive after that, has the edge, and some of us will die. You are all prepared to give your life for this glorious calling and a second chance, for a higher purpose and a greater future, but just because you are willing to die, doesn¡¯t mean you shouldn¡¯t fight till your last breath to keep that life. Do you understand what we¡¯re dealing with? The Holyman is the Lakeshot Shooter. He''s the one God blessed to start this mission, who he led through that safehouse massacre. He has done his job and fallen in with the enemy, the devil herself. But the fallen angel Michael has betrayed God, and God is with US now, just like his notes predicted. All of you are killers and sinners here for redemption and if you die tonight God will take that bravery into consideration. Those who survive will continue this crusade.¡± Purge said, beating his chest as the men rolled out. The one in silver, presumably second in command, stayed behind and discreetly got Purge¡¯s attention.

    ¡°I thought Carl said he wanted the preacher alive?¡± Silver cross asked.

    ¡°Fuck those orders. If God wants Carl to lead, and he sent all of us, killers and men with nothing to lose, he wouldn¡¯t have sent us to hold back and let pride be Carl¡¯s downfall. Pride is a sin, greed, the temptation to risk it all for the boast that you alone did the job. God brought a team together, he didn¡¯t send Carl alone. Carl is going to get himself killed trying to prove he¡¯s the bigger man. What good is all of this if he gets killed? He just wants the glory of outshooting the best shooter. Let¡¯s remove that temptation. This is bigger than all of us. That Preacher is untouchable at that range and just as dangerous close up, and you want to take that monster on and try to subdue him alive with the devil herself at his side, while he has no hesitation killing you? That¡¯s suicide. I prefer to live through this and the way we do that, is to take this golden opportunity to take both of them out while they are not expecting it, mow them both down, apologize to cal afterafter. I would rather get a stern verbal bashing for depriving him of his kill while accidentally killing the preacher in the heat of the moment, than to get us all killed trying to take the Lakeshot Monster down alive. This is a holy war. We¡¯re here to purge the darkness, not save it for Carl to kill. If he¡¯s blessed and really fucking good at his shot placement, then He¡¯ll kill the preacher before we do, and prove himself. I¡¯m not getting us all killed waiting on that.

    Mike peered into the empty restaurant section, lights off and music low, pretty dead at 2am. The lone young man drinking at the bar on the far end, and the one bartender his only company, hoping Nadja would hurry up.

    Nadja opened the door of the U-haul and stepped into the parking lot, just as a burst of gunfire hitting the truck dropped her instinctively for cover behind a black SUV. She wrestled out her AR57, frantically extending the bracer stock and starting to see the advantage of Mike¡¯s spring-loaded version. She stood up slowly, noticing men in tactical gear fanning out to her location, and the bar in a pair of teams. She hunkered back down, opening the container of cocaine and snorting half of it, rising back up and just opening full auto fire like a pressure washer, spraying the team from right to left to keep them all on the same side of the U-haul. She took her left hand off for a reload before taking her eyes off the falling soldiers, quick reloading the moment she ran out and opening fire again.

    ¡°The fuck is she shooting with, a damn belt-fed?¡± Silver cross asked, huddling behind a white car with the survivors. ¡°She¡¯ just never runs out.¡±

    Mike heard the gunfire and with one seamless movement, the coat opened, and the stock sprung out to his shoulder. Mike turned, going full auto on the approaching crowd as well. A round zipped past his ear close enough to feel the air, and he knew it was Carl, diving over the bar counter and tackling the bartender.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± she cried out to mike.

    ¡°Stand up quickly and walk at a medium pace with your hands up high, out the main entrance. If you see anyone there, just yell don¡¯t shoot, and stand still. They¡¯re not after you. Wait till I provide cover fire and move.¡± He said, nodding and shoving his back to the wall of bottles, standing and dumping 7mm rounds in quick bursts to conserve and keep them down, as the bartender ran. He switched on thermals and the magnifier, peering out to spot Carl and seeing no warm dot in the distance. ¡°Hiding out of range away while other people die, True nobility, Carl.¡± He said as glass shattered and varying weapons rained lead in his direction. As if trying to simply cut the bar in half down the center, the alternating automatic fire seemed to never end as they waited for one to reload to open fire in their place. Splinters spat out from the underside of the bar as some of the rounds made it through.

    ¡°NADJA!¡± Mike hollered. Dialing and waiting for a response. He could hear the distinct clink of her gun firing between the other wall of noises, as some of the men were running out of ammo and reloading gaps appeared. Something flew into the window, and he braced for impact as a loud explosion shattered most of the bottles behind him, showering him in glass and booze.

    ¡°That was a flash grenade, Preacher. The next ones won¡¯t be!¡± Barked Purge, ¡°You got 2 seconds to reply.¡±

    ¡°With WHAT, ASSHOLE!?¡± Mike barked back.

    ¡°That will due. You¡¯re still alive, preacher, you got 2 choices. We got Nadja Pinned down and out of ammo in that damn chaingun of hers, so she¡¯s gonna be either unarmed or hunkering with a pistol. When they turn that corner. You can toss that MPX out first, and then step out hands up, and we let her go, and none of us kill you. Or you can do anything else, and we start throwing frag grenades in your little cubby-hole and mow her down at the same time.¡± Purge explained.

    ¡°Do I have time to consider my options? I assume you¡¯ll just kill both of us anyway, so I¡¯m really just debating how I wanna die aren¡¯t I?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°You got 40 seconds to decide what you believe in, my word or your god¡¯s protection. After that, I choose for you. Then It¡¯s up to God¡± He replied, counting slowly.

    Nadja peaked from under the SUV to make sure nobody was moving, as she rapidly took rounds out of her pistol and reloaded the rounds into AR57 magazine, preferring a rifle reload than a handgun at the moment.

    Mike looked up at the ceiling as if waiting for a sign.

    ¡°Any help or guidance would be great.¡± He said, as his hand began to shake, and he opened the container of cocaine and heart meds he assumed were just the meds crushed up for emergencies. He needed to calm down, jumping and almost spilling the container as a bottle landed in his lap. ¡°Are you fucking kidding me?¡± he asked aloud, holding up the one bottle left unbroken and half full. A square bottle of Mister Black Cold Brew Liqueur he had no idea was there before. ¡°You better not be messing with me. I know I left you in the parking lot last time, but right now we¡¯re about to trade spots unless you wanna provide a little more information.¡± He said aggressively in a whisper. The silence was frustrating as he kicked back about half the powder and sniffed the rest for quicker release, opening the bottle and powering down about 350ml of liquid irony, in the form of more stimulants than 2 cups of coffee on top of the drugs and booze.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    His heart surged, and he felt a sudden anger brewing, pun fully intended by whatever higher power was acting as his dealer. Mike¡¯s skin began to burn, his vision brightening, and a wave of pure fury overtook him. He unscrewed the barrel insert and offhanded the tube, readying a magazine of 45 hollowpoints and taking the spare shotgun shell from his pocket as he racked it back and manually loaded, slamming the action shut. He quickly checked the tube with the last round and stood up. Reflexively, he pulled the trigger at the slightest hint of movement, popping the grenade with a triple-aught ¡°Puckshot¡± and bouncing it back, detonating a moment later outside. He jumped the counter, secondary barrel tucked in his left hand under the 7mm pistol out and ready, racking another shotgun shell with his right hand as he started placing left-handed headshots with armor piercing pistol rounds, firing another shell at a thrown grenade almost the moment it left the thrower¡¯s hand, rolling for cover as it went off, killing the thrower. He repeated that mechanical process, left-hand pistol headshots, right-hand shotgun to incoming grenades.

    Each time Mike turned with an almost punching motion, racking another shell in and returning to the grip, trigger pulling just as he gripped it, not even registering that another overhand throwing motion was happening, the reflected grenades bouncing wildly off into the group, taking 2 of them out. Nadja shouldered her rifle, only a few rounds to spare, and hesitant as she watched Mike alternate between double tapping helmets and shotgunning knees out from men, now afraid to even throw a grenade. The Last shotgun shell went off, the number clicking in his mind and tilting the gun to rest on his pistol hand, still firing southpaw, as if aiming itself, he jammed in the 45 magazine and racked the bolt, holstering the empty pistol and switching to full auto on the MPX. It spat bursts of 3 or 4 rounds into each target still moving on the ground like he was causally just hand-delivering the final blow to the men, now struggling to get up, legs full of lead shot, each of them going quiet as he executed them, turning his aim up towards the darkness in the distance, firing a burst of 6 randomly in the direction of Carl, slamming his back to the nearby white car as a round missed, and he locked eyes onto the location of the flash, ducking down between the two vehicles and filling the shotgun tube with 3 long pointed rifle rounds. He threaded in the 7mm barrel adapter again and forcing one into the empty open chamber. He went back to thermal and lifted his head up, steadying the rifle on the car mirror as he aimed for the faint dot or red and estimated 3 feet high. He fired, mechanically reloading and firing again, another foot high, and a third time, in about 4 seconds, slapping in the 50 round pistol magazine and switching back to SMG mode.

    ¡°FUCK!¡± Carl blurted, feeling the rounds hit the truck tailgate, the back window, and the bumper. He flopped down behind cover and laid in confusion. ¡°With a fucking MPX?!¡± he asked, baffled at the fact that he was even close to hitting him with a gun chambered for a pistol round. He blinked in confusion, noticing the peeled sheet metal on the tailgate, indicating the round actually went through. His cover was useless. He popped up, rapid firing 4 rounds from the Dragunov just to buy a second to bail inside the truck through the now missing back glass. He suddenly heard the soft pelting of the pistol rounds hitting the dirt around him, hearing the gunshots just after, and then the clank of some of them from the full auto spray hitting the truck. He floored the gas and threw dirt as he blindly drove into the dark, never even concerned about anything in front of him. Mike felt the impact of something on his chest and turned to see Silver Cross still laying halfway behind a parked car, desperately firing his sidearm with shaky hands. Mike walked up to him, taking another round to the vest as if it didn¡¯t even matter, kicking the gun away and grabbing the merch¡¯s knife, lifting him by the neck and ramming the blade under the body armor and into his side 5 times robotically fast, and then slashing the throat.

    He heard sirens and turned back to the U-haul, bloodshot eyes and breathing heavily as Nadja followed him, rushing to get in before he just left without her. He quickly began reloading his guns and prepping to take on a squad of cop cars as if nothing could stop him and nothing mattered.

    ¡°Mike, it¡¯s over!¡± she blurted, picking up her phone and dialing the police. ¡°It¡¯s Nadja. Call them off.¡± She said forcefully. ¡°666,¡± she annunciated with a serpentine tone to her code word, ¡°As if you don¡¯t know my damn voice. Call them off.¡± She said, hanging up as Mike kicked the Door open, now dual wielding a Fostech shotgun and his MPX, pistol in his teeth and hate in his eyes. He turned the shotgun as a sort of arm rest to aim the MPX, now supporting a longer barrel and larger scope out of nowhere, aiming for the flashing lights in the distance as they approached. The flashing stopped, and the sirens turned off. He waited and dropped his stance, stomping back inside and putting the guns on the table, keeping the pistol in his hand as he pointed it at Nadja.

    ¡°Explain.¡± He said with a forceful simplicity.

    ¡°I have connections you don¡¯t, Mike. Don¡¯t you get it. Your one weakness is that you work alone, on a budget with no connections, and I have money, a few police in every major city on call, and I give one order, they back away. I have power you don¡¯t, you have skill I don¡¯t. Between us, there¡¯s no gaps and no weak spots in the armor. We¡¯re unstoppable together. Without me, you¡¯d be swarmed with police and meeting your grave soon enough. Look at us together. No sirens, no survivors, not a mark." she grinned.

    ¡°Carl survived, that¡¯s a problem for me.¡± Mike huffed.

    ¡°Let him shit himself in fear and run, maybe he won¡¯t dare try that again. He¡¯s seen the real you, and so have I¡­and it¡¯s perfect.¡± She said, stepping in to embrace him, and before she could meet his lips, he grabbed her gun, tossing it aside and removing his belt, re-looping it with his teeth and sliding it around her neck. He pinned her back as he raised the loose end over her head and over the metal light bar. He switched hands, pulling down and lifting her feet off the ground as he pressed his forehead into hers, staring into her eyes as if debating on whether to just let her suffocate.

    ¡°You wanted to meet Mister Black so badly. How about now?¡± he sighed. ¡°You¡¯ve been a pain in my ass since the moment I met you, and I¡¯ve been tempted to just put a bullet in your eye socket since the first shot you fired. You¡¯re right¡­Holyman Mike couldn¡¯t do it, so you pushed him. Now who¡¯s pushing back?¡± he said, yanking tighter as she raised a few inches. ¡°Or pulling back.¡±

    She pulled the belt with both hands, letting up just enough tension to barely breathe and speak.

    ¡°You think I¡¯m scared to die?¡± she wheezed, arms shaking to keep the belt from cutting off her voice. ¡°You want me and hate me so badly, they blur together. So just fuck me or kill me already, I¡¯ll enjoy either one.¡± She grinned, maniacally removing her grip and letting the belt tighten as she stared back, letting him choke her, fearless and still somehow taunting him as her face turned a bluer shade matching her hair by the second. He stood his ground, staring back for what felt like an eternity, no flinching or fear. He felt a strange concern, and suddenly loosening his grip, letting her down enough to barely touch her toes to the floor and get a gasp of air. He felt a slight cold sensation as a knife point tapped his chest just under the throat, and he realized she now had his knife, and could probably shove upwards faster than he could hang her. Her eyes reflected in the light like an animal.

    ¡°What the hell are you?¡± he whispered.

    ¡°I¡¯m you, without the preacher mask to hide behind. I¡¯m free.¡± She grinned, grinding her head against his. ¡°So are you ready to go back inside the bottle and be a slave, or have you finally realized what you are¡­me, but not hiding behind a preacher mask to deny it.¡± she added.

    ¡°Toss the knife, and I¡¯ll let go of the belt. In that order.¡± He said coldly.

    ¡°Why would I want you to do that?¡± she giggled darkly, in a deep Russian accent, tossing the knife and grabbing his right hand, keeping his grip on the belt and making sure it stayed just snug enough to be a threat. She arched onto her tiptoes and leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his and rolling her eyes back in a wave of conquest as he stepped forward instead of backwards. Mike felt something breathe into his lungs, frigid cold and paralyzing, and he didn''t want to resist it anymore.

    A Camaro pulled over on the side of a random road, Tanner jabbing the driver with the tip of the Keltec SMG to remind him that she meant business. She stepped out and tucked it under her coat, checking her phone again and seeing no replies, spinning around, realizing she was lost and had no idea where to even look for Mike. The glow of the city in front of her was intimidating, one giant cluster of streets and people, all too big to navigate and search for something trying not to be found. Her eyes welled up in frustration as she felt oddly alone, like the last survivor of some zombie apocalypse, as if not a single human being was left but her. The fatigue of running on no sleep, fighting her way to freedom just to be met with the idea that without Mike she was just¡­lost. A truck rolled up behind her, and she lacked the will to even look its direction or acknowledge it, until the familiar click of a Skorpion pistol going off safety let her know who it was.

    ¡°Just kill me, Carl.¡± She sighed, refusing to even turn around.

    ¡°I¡¯d really prefer not to, and if you promise not to shoot me, we don¡¯t have a problem here. Just put the gun on the car and get in the truck.¡± Carl said.

    ¡°No.¡± she shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not going back. I¡¯m not giving up my gun. I¡¯m going to find Mike somehow and if you wanna stop me you have to shoot me. I¡¯m too tired to care, and too lost to walk. I¡¯m not going to be your hostage, so do what you gotta do, just don¡¯t be a dick and shoot me in the back or something. A gentleman shoots for the head. You owe me more than that.¡± She said, stepping back towards the car as the driver aimed a revolver at her from the open glovebox she forgot to check.

    ¡°Tanner, get in the truck. I¡¯m not taking you back. I¡¯m taking you to Mike. You just won''t like what he¡¯s turned into.¡± He said as she stood, gun pointed at the dirt, two barrels trained on her and both vehicles blocking her from even walking away. She debated the options and began walking around to the passenger side of Carl¡¯s truck. Getting in and resting the gun on her lap, barrel aimed at his side.

    ¡°I guess drive then. What did I miss?¡±

    ¡°A lot of things I wish you didn¡¯t have to find out.¡± He sighed, rolling down the road. "The Mike you know is gone now."

 Chapter 12: The Contract.

    Tanner sat quietly, waiting for the explanation.

    ¡°Mike has abandoned his faith.¡± Carl sighed.

    ¡°What does that even mean, Carl? I¡¯ll shoot you just for pissing me off, I swear."

    ¡°Do you believe in any of this fate and God stuff? Because I do. My last doubts left an hour ago, and there¡¯s no more room for it. I¡¯m a believer. I was never sure if you really did, or if you just pretended to appease Mike. Honestly.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I tried the thermal scope thing, I never saw anyone glowing hotter, the time we cut into one of the ¡°demons¡± and he saw a black beating heart, I just saw a dead guy. Mike knows things and sees things, hears things nobody else does. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s crazy or chosen, I just know he saved me from the streets and jail and protected me, and he¡¯s killing the people who need to be killed. He¡¯s a good man and I love him, Sacred or schizoid.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Well, I thought the same thing for a while, minus the love part. More like respect. But when you two left and I got the group together, I just wanted to kill shitty people. I just wanted to belong to something, kill the really nasty ones and see if any decent people were left to talk to. I''ve been hearing the voice, Tanner. Assumed it was just stress and being worried that I was in over my head, but the ones left after the first elimination round seemed to really see me as a leader. I never even saw myself as a leader, I was just faking it for respect. And then I started going through Mike¡¯s stuff. You know he rigged the basement to blow if anyone opened the hatch? I opened the hatch and the damn fuse sputtered out, lit the place on fire, but it didn¡¯t explode. For some reason I just grabbed everything I could and got out as the place went up, but that rigged grenade should have killed me, and it should have set off the fire faster. I thought I got lucky until I realized what I grabbed. Mike¡¯s journals, just a few of them, his bible and his laptop. The laptop was password encrypted, like the kind that wipes the drive if you guess wrong, so I went through the papers to find the password. What I found was his beliefs. The more I read, the more I checked the highlighted verses, the more it made sense somehow. That''s when the voices started. Quiet and slow, but growing. He predicted that he would find a replacement for his work before he even met you, but the part that bothered me was that it never mentioned your name or this replacement being a girl, or inexperienced, or¡­a cutter. You¡¯d think Mike, the infamous sniper, would find a replacement who knew guns, and not a girl who stabs for fun and can''t cover her own crime scenes. It just really stuck with me. He knew things were going to happen before they did, he made kills nobody could make, and he shot his way through a safehouse of guys who should have all outclassed him at his age, and took them all down with like a few handguns and an SMG he made. The man was not operating alone without divine help. One weird event is coincidence, 2 is creepy, but time after time this man defied odds and luck and knew with confidence 3 steps ahead of everyone, because a voice in his head told him shit. Schizophrenic people do hear voices, Tanner. They¡¯re just usually not right about anything. His was right way too many times in a row to just be random.¡±

    ¡°Okay so Mike¡¯s actually bulletproof, that¡¯s a good thing. Right?¡± she shrugged.

    ¡°I thought so, but then I started to hear the voice guiding me to some strange phrases and notes that didn¡¯t make sense. He built guns, long range and machine pistols, not one knife. He wrote words like ¡°brother¡± and ¡°partner¡±, never once saying soul mate or lover or even a female context clue. Read this part. I saved that on my phone.¡±

    ¡°In my dream, I met the devil again. Tempting me to my downfall. I have to train someone soon, before temptation finds me and sinks her teeth into my soul.¡± She read. ¡°Yea, Mike has this thing with alcohol and pills that he can¡¯t control. It¡¯s his own personal demon of temptation. He struggles. We all have something like that, he¡¯s just way more capable of fucking up a safehouse full of professionals than we are when he lets her sink her teeth in. She¡¯s his forbidden fruit. What¡¯s the point? Please tell me you didn¡¯t let him get drunk and go Rambo mode on Nadja and like¡­get his face on a wanted poster or something."

    ¡°No, it¡¯s worse than that. The alcohol wasn¡¯t the lady of temptation. Nadja is. He used a male context for the demon, the alcohol. Always HIS grip, or HIS power. The alcohol is just his fuel. Read some of the shit he wrote. It¡¯s pretty villainous thoughts he¡¯s been having, really dark dreams, and this is coming from me, a guy who¡¯s murdered like 29 people. This is going to sound insane but¡­I¡¯m the one chosen to replace Mike, not you. You were just his reward or something.¡± Carl said confidently.

    ¡°Wow, some big-ego dick energy, Carl. You got the miracles to back that, or just delusions. You know, without the miraculous stuff, Mike¡¯s claims would just be a crazy person. So¡­what miracles ya got, Carl? You gonna turn water into vodka?¡±

    ¡°You''re not gonna like the miracle I got planned. God told me to kill Mike.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Motherfucker!¡± she said, raising the gun as he raised his to match.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill him. I just challenged him. Mike and I are going to have a gentleman¡¯s duel, we knew you wouldn¡¯t understand, so I drugged you and put you in the group house for safety and then after explaining why, he saw my point and agreed to it, hesitantly. I kill old people who have nothing left to live for. You know that. The ones ready to go, shells of themselves and no soul left. Just¡­broken. It¡¯s a mercy. Killing someone quietly while they¡¯re still just barely themselves, and before they become just a vessel without a purpose. Mike seemed pretty lively for a guy who God told me to kill and replace, and I couldn¡¯t just shoot him in the back without warning. I had to know why. I thought maybe I was just losing my mind and getting, like you said, big-dick ego energy. The right motives but the wrong details, you know? That¡¯s why I challenged him. If I¡¯m just crazy, I¡¯m too dangerous to be out there with a gun. If I¡¯m hearing voices and killing people without hesitation, I¡¯m just a psychopath. Not the kind we are, the kind we hunt. I¡¯d rather die than go nuts and kill the wrong people. But if I was right, Mike needed to die for some reason. I figured why not challenge him, the is man blessed by God, and if God lets me win fair and square, then I was right. If not, then he does what he does best and kills a dangerous nutjob with an ego problem and a lot of guns. You have no idea how many guns I have, I have so many guns it¡¯s insane.¡±

    ¡°Really helping your case there Nutter-Butter. So you wanna just let me shoot you and prove I¡¯m God¡¯s replacement, cuz we can do that right now if you pull over. I don¡¯t wanna kill you driving down the road. That¡¯s gonna suck for me. No thanks. Bad time. Not for me. You should definitely pull over and put that little toy gun down. It¡¯s what God and Mike would want.¡± She said with a snide smirk.

    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re just getting started, Tanner. To quote his notes. The devil rises to bring the end of days, and all that can stop her is a spider''s bite and a soldier of God.¡±

    ¡°Fuck, this was already really boring. Can you speed up the bullshit at least, and then I can shoot you and get some tacos because I am starving, I haven¡¯t eaten in like 20 hours. I would literally kill you for a taco right now. Try me.¡± She snipped, "And what does a spider have to do with anything?"

    ¡°No idea. Metaphor, literal spider venom. Who knows? But Mike is Protecting Nadja. I don¡¯t know why, but the moment you left, they teamed up, and she got under his skin. They negotiated together, traveled together, I spotted them at the range shooting together. This is the woman who killed her parents and a bunch of random school kids, killed her high school boyfriend for cheating on her, she¡¯s ordered hits for no reason, hell she tried to kill you for no reason, killed 2 or 3 innocent people at the strip club, where she was grinding on your boyfriend in a g-string.¡±

    ¡°Can we just not?¡± she cringed.

    ¡°He''s turned. I wanted to prove something, between me and Mike, not her and her traps. So I had some of my guys storm the hotel they were staying at. I gave very clear orders, don¡¯t harm Mike, warning shots only, but mow down Nadja without mercy. Simple. He was at the bar, getting drunk, and she was in the U-haul, so I told them to cut the U-haul in half, leave the preacher alone. You would have approved that order. They had her pinned down and helpless, and Mike took them apart. Good men, 3 war vets, some respectable hunters, and I hired 2 merchants for leadership, and he cut through them like paper, drunk and high, ran in front of gunfire for Nadja. Then he took a few shots at me and I don¡¯t know how he landed a round near the truck in the dark, drunk and stoned with a damn pistol caliber gun with an 8-inch barrel at 850 yards, but I have 3 holes in my truck he put through in under 5 seconds and a few more as I got the hell out. Tanner, Mike is lost. Read his papers. There¡¯s a dark side to him that she somehow let out. And he predicted it.¡±

    ¡°Well obviously she drugged him, hypnosis, syringes¡­WE have both used that shit, you¡¯ve drugged me, don¡¯t act like she couldn¡¯t have given him a needle in his sleep and given him that¡­weird zombie drug you hear about. We have to save him.¡± She insisted. ¡°And obviously kill Nadja.¡± She barked.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Tanner, we may have to kill him to GET to Nadja. She has connections we don¡¯t, she has a hold on the meanest killing machine I¡¯ve ever met, and he predicted it. SHE is the temptation he knew he would fall to. In my dream, I met the devil again. Tempting me to my downfall. I have to train someone soon, before temptation finds me and sinks her teeth into my soul. She¡¯s the devil that sinks her teeth into him. Not kill him, temps him to his downfall. So if you think you¡¯re really God¡¯s favorite instead of me, then agree to disagree. I¡¯m willing to die to find out, not get you killed to find out. Either way, Mike has fallen and whatever got back up is working for the devil now, and she is worse than I thought she was. She¡¯s not just some psycho. If God is real and has chosen followers, The devil is real too, and that¡¯s either Nadja herself or that''s HIS chosen-protected one. I got close to her the other day, looked into her eyes. You don¡¯t understand, there was a moment when she looked at me like a piece of meat and not in the good way, and something in the back of my mind wanted to betray everything for her. She just batted those eyes and said she wanted to see my gun, and I just handed it to her, without thinking.¡±

    ¡°Oh my fuck, you idiot. Is that the same gun you¡¯re pointing right now? Give me that thing.¡± She said, taking the gun from him and checking it for sabotage.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°Looking for a paperclip stuck in there to make it backfire or some kind of missing part she stole¡­¡± she said, removing the clip, taking out the ammo and shaking the magazine to see what fell out. ¡°Okay, I don¡¯t know this gun enough to say what¡¯s wrong, but don¡¯t use this thing. It¡¯s gonna break or explode or something. She said reloading the bullet into magazine, in no particular order.

    ¡°That¡¯s my favorite gun.¡± He insisted.

    ¡°Not until this is over and someone has inspected every part of that thing. I got a bad vibe off this. Maybe Chosen one bad vibes or like¡­common sense like the deadliest woman alive played with your gun so it¡¯s clearly broken now vibes. We CAN¡¯T kill Mike. And I¡¯ll kill you if you even look like you¡¯re about to try. Understand? NADJA is the problem, or ThE DeViL or whatever. We kill her. Mike wouldn¡¯t ever hurt me, so if we have to, use me as a human shield.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a horrible idea.¡± Carl sighed.

    ¡°Just to clarify, human shield for MIKE. Not for Nadja. If Mike is gonna kill you, use me as a shield, don¡¯t you dare hide behind me if that bitch is shooting at us. We understand the concept?¡± Tanner clarified.

    ¡°I don¡¯t intend to do either, but I get the concept. It¡¯s a stupid concept. I hate it, but I heard you.¡± he shrugged.

    ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t even attempt to kill Mike. Promise me right now and mean it, or I¡¯ll pop your dick right now with this gun, and it¡¯s way more lethal than you¡¯d think. I¡¯ll roll the truck, I got a seatbelt on, you don''t. Promise me Carl. Make it happen.¡± she insisted.

    ¡°Okay fine. I promise I won¡¯t try to kill Mike.¡± He said angrily as the silently stared forward and the hum of the truck engine became awkwardly loud. ¡°You know this is gonna get us both killed.¡± He muttered.

    ¡°Just drive.¡±

    Mike braced his neck with his arm, like a pillow, Nadja sprawled naked half over him and both on the floor of the U-haul.

    ¡°What is wrong with me?¡± he asked coldly.

    ¡°Apparently not much. It¡¯s been fixed.¡± She grinned.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know which thing I hate more, You or myself. Or the fact that my only regret is what this will do to Tanner.¡± He said softly. ¡°It¡¯s going to break her heart.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s young, she¡¯ll recover. She will find new boyfriend. Maybe she will just fuck Carl.¡± Nadja jabbed.

    ¡°That¡¯s a problem since we plan to kill him. It¡¯s bad enough I stabbed her in the back, but God forbid she actually found that asshole¡¯s lies believable, I have to break her heart twice. I can¡¯t leave him alive, he¡¯ll just come back to kill me. If you don¡¯t kill me first. Maybe you should. Kill me, then kill Him. Let Tanner believe I was a good man who got killed fighting you. Consider it, at least.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare burrow under that mask again, Michael. You fought so hard to get out, and now you understand. I didn¡¯t even know you got shot.¡± She said, running her nails over the bruises.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t care at the time, and I didn¡¯t feel anything. The vest worked. Sent a bunch of amateurs with 9mm handguns and off-the-shelf assault weapons. What a joke.

    ¡°They got you 3 times, and once with a knife.¡± she said lighting touching the scratch.

    ¡°No, YOU got me once with a knife. You should finish the job you started.¡± He said feeling guilty.

    ¡°I have finished the job. The Job was to release you, and I have. Tell me you really regret it. Lie to me and tell me you didn¡¯t love everything from the killing to the celebration.¡± she growled.

    ¡°I regret what it will do to Tanner. That¡¯s the one part I truly do regret, and my one deep guilt. Everything else I¡¯d do again, but I¡¯d take it all back to keep from hurting her.¡±

    ¡°Then lie to her. Lie to protect her. Don¡¯t tell her anything. Let her worry a little, why Carl plays this silly game and when we kill him, you will simply tell her that you are leaving her because it¡¯s not safe around you. You love her, you would die for her, but you would run from her to keep her safe from me and everyone else after you. That much is not even a lie. Then tell her she is ready to do her job, God is ready to pass the torch, and you must lead the villains away, or she will never be safe. Lie to her, Michael.¡±

    ¡°That almost makes things worse. She¡¯ll look for me. No closure, never sure if I¡¯m alive or dead, thinking she could help me and bring me back. She¡¯d almost be better off thinking I was dead. Or knowing what I am and hating me to heal and move on. Never knowing anything is a purgatory, I can¡¯t lock her in.¡± Mike muttered.

    ¡°And you know if you leave me, I WILL kill you. But not in a quick, heroic way. I have waited for a long time to find a monster like you, if you steal that from me, I will cut it back out of you.¡± She seductively whispered, lightly biting his neck.

    ¡°It¡¯s a tempting way to go, assuming I don¡¯t kill you first. I would have the edge knowing I was going to betray you before you knew it. I could just kill you in your sleep and go back to Tanner. Kill Carl myself. Say you did it. Deny everything. Remind me why I don¡¯t do that and have everything I ever wanted?¡± he asked darkly.

    ¡°Because¡­you don¡¯t truly want Tanner anymore. The preacher you were pretending to be, wanted a lamb to save and a student to mentor. That little streak of evil in her was enough for the evil in you. Now you know what the real thing tastes like. You¡¯ll never go back. You will either embrace what you are and accept that Tanner will move on without you, and you have taught her how to be strong, or you will try and kill me to burrow back into denial and I will remind you why you still fear me a little bit. Or you will break and run away like a coward and vanish into the night. You will never go back to her with me alive to find you, and you can¡¯t kill me. You have had the chance so many times to try, and stopped. The same man who killed those merchants without hesitation or regret, FOR me¡­you won¡¯t kill me because you know you can''t.¡± She said, rolling over and taking a swig of vodka, handing it to him. ¡°And Carl is too much a chicken shit to kill be a threat to me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± He said, taking a swig and looking distant. ¡°I can¡¯t, because I don¡¯t want to. Even if you admitted that you planned to kill me, I still don¡¯t want to. But if you ever touch tanner, I promise I¡¯m going to start wanting to, and you saw what happens to people I wanna kill, when nothing is holding me back. If God isn¡¯t real, and temptation is just an illusion of guilt, then we should do whatever we want. But Tanner is real, and how much I care about her is real. So if you hurt her, I will want nothing on Earth more than to shred you apart and burn the evidence.¡± He smiled sadistically, visualizing it in his mind and almost liking the idea. ¡°And both sides of me are in agreement of that decision, and God doesn¡¯t get to disagree anymore.¡± He promised. She climbed back on top of him, sitting up and grabbing a handful of his hair.

    ¡°Now, THAT is the dark preacher I came all the way from Russia to catch. I can see you thinking about it now. The hate in your eyes, the darkness savoring the kill. No more quick shot to the head and running away to hide the evidence. You can do whatever you want now. As long as I¡¯m alive, you can get away with anything.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m finally free, as long as I''m a slave to you? That''s ironic and poorly played.¡± Mike huffed.

    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t run away from me.¡± She growled. ¡°My grandfather would have you hunted to extinction if you did kill me. But nobody can. I''m your newest and most enjoyable curse. In fact¡­ I have something in mind you have never done, that I bet you would enjoy even more than last night.¡± she tempted.

    ¡°I¡¯m curious to hear this lie.¡± He joked, doubt in his eyes as he stared at her naked body, glistening with sweat. "Difficult to top that performance."

    ¡°Have you ever killed an American president?¡± she asked with a subtle bit of her lip. His eyes changed, the look of playful doubt fading to a new kind of belief.

    ¡°I thought your grandpa had our president Dupont on a similar leash to the one you have me on, except with the body positions reversed. Why would we kill a president that works for your family?¡± he scoffed.

    ¡°Not that one¡­the one he¡¯s running against soon. What is it they say, once you are President of the United States, you are always a president? We could prove that wrong and make sure Former president Bloomberg is never elected again.¡± She tempted. He sat up, grabbing the back of her neck as she smiled with devilishly gleaming teeth in the dim light.

    ¡°Is that what all of this is about? You did all of this just to get me to kill someone for you?¡± he smirked, almost admiring the game she was playing and the intricacy of the moves.

    ¡°Nyet, Michael. How diminishing. I offer you a treat, and you accuse me of trickery. Tell me, it doesn¡¯t sound like fun? We can¡¯t kill the one you have, that would be detrimental to my family. And my grandfather would probably kill you and everyone you care about, including your Tanner. That is not fun for anyone. So choose something else. Tell me something more fun that you would prefer. Name it. Whatever you want, with a few rare exceptions. What is more exciting than killing a president?¡± She asked. He pondered the question, and every name that came to mind seemed like an excuse to divert to something trivial and random. Nothing else serious came to mind. The only thing that seemed more fun to kill¡­was Nadja, and that option was still on the table and not worth bringing back up again in conversation.

    ¡°Let me consider on that offer.¡± He replied.

    "Consider it part of a deal, a contract. Your soul for Tanner''s" She hissed.

 Chapter 13: Dark Passenger

    Tanner pouted, watching the news on her tablet, like a bored kid on a road trip, as Carl drove.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand, this news story makes no sense. You said you had a team of people to kill Nadja, this just says a gang war took place over a drug deal gone wrong and the police made a huge drug bust. They¡¯re not just covering it up, they¡¯re basically celebrating their victory on the war on drugs like they did something great.¡±

    ¡°Media is 90 percent bullshit and 5 percent horse shit, Tanner. I was there. No gangs, and the only drugs were whatever Mike and Nadja were high on. All those men who died were guys I sent in there, members of the group or hired guns. Professionals."

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand how they just cover it up, what bout witnesses? It¡¯s a fucking hotel. Nobody saw anything?¡± she asked. ¡°Bitch with blue hair and a Russian accent didn¡¯t stand out at all to anyone?¡±

    ¡°Anyone who got close enough to identify Nadja is probably dead, anyone who wasn¡¯t, probably took cover when guns started going off. Cops probably paid off anyone telling a different story. Chaos and panic can look like anything if you spin it right. Plus, we¡¯re up against some supernatural forces here.¡± Carl said coldly.

    ¡°No we¡¯re not. She¡¯s not an actual devil, she¡¯s just a person who¡¯s evil and rich. She has money, political power and fear, and she¡¯s insanely well-trained.¡±

    ¡°Mike did most of that killing. Where did he get his training? No military records, did he ever tell you how he got so damn good?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°He¡¯s just smart and builds his own guns that do wild shit. Look. He made me this.¡± She said, holding up the red and black SMG.

    ¡°It¡¯s a shitty Keltec with a lot of aftermarket stuff on it. Suppressor, grip, good sights, custom paint job. I could do that.¡± He scoffed. She held up the magazine and the gleaming silver shells with an oddly beefy copper projectile, grooved turned into it every other 2 millimeters.

    ¡°That weird custom ammo of his, hu?¡± Carl sighed. ¡°So he invented a new bullet.¡±

    ¡°He re-invented the bullet, and then reverse engineered a gun around it, took a cheap gun apart and copied every piece he wanted in better materials, some weird metals different from the ones he invented for the bullets, interchangeable calibers. This just looks like a 500 dollar plastic gun because he painted it in plastic paint to look like a 500 dollar plastic gun. It¡¯s incognito, but this thing is kind of insane. The other guns he has are even more insane.¡±

    ¡°Yea he showed me the Gwen 50 cal that shoots over a mile and folds up like a damn origami stork into your pocket. That explains the firepower, but not why an old man can outshoot a merchant army, and why Nadja smelled him out from Russia and found him. I thought you believe in the supernatural side of Mike.

    ¡°I do¡­I mean mostly.¡± she pondered.

    ¡°So if Mike is divine, why can¡¯t Nadja be a cursed plague? She didn¡¯t have his guns and his God, and she held her ground against Mike, and then turned him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not TURNED!¡± she barked, punching the console. ¡°He¡¯s tricked somehow, or he has some weird plan to do something bigger we don¡¯t understand. I don¡¯t know. Mike wouldn¡¯t just turn evil, he wouldn¡¯t just betray me, maybe you. You wanna kill him. Maybe you¡¯re lying about everything, and he¡¯s her hostage, and you don¡¯t wanna admit one girl killed them all and kicked your ass. I don¡¯t trust anyone, except Mike. And if he¡¯s not playing some game of divine chess, then he¡¯s in danger and being played. Either way, he¡¯s not our enemy. SHE is. Nadja, with her sexy matrix moves and her big Russian tits. You boys are just distracted and baffled by hotness because you guys are killers, and she¡¯s a phenomenal killer, which is clearly a turn on for you guys, she¡¯s exotic and mysterious, and also she¡¯s just hot. Like even, I see that. At the strip club, holy hell I was distracted too, I just didn¡¯t build a religion around it. Maybe if I had a penis, I¡¯d be under her spell too. She¡¯s not indestructible and protected by Satan, she¡¯s just a highly skilled Dick whisperer with a ton of military training to kill, and grampa¡¯s political immunity and big money.¡± She ranted. ¡°Maybe GRAMPA is the devil!¡± she gasped sarcastically.

    ¡°We¡¯ve looked into that theory.¡± Carl admitted.

    ¡°Oh my shit. I was joking. He¡¯s just the Russian president. Name a president who¡¯s not basically an evil dick-tator. They¡¯re all evil, that¡¯s how you get to be president. Cheating and being evil, spending a ton of money and backstabbing. They can¡¯t all be the devil. They CAN all be assholes with insane power madness. None of them are the devil, they just all think they¡¯re God.¡± She huffed.

    Nadja strutted out from the shower of the 5-star hotel, dripping on the carpet she didn¡¯t care about cleaning, and finding Mike nose-deep in his laptop, coffee and a stack of papers, 5 window tabs open and a CAD program with a gun in the middle.

    ¡°Do you always obsess over these?¡± she asked, rubbing his shoulders and peering over them.

    ¡°Only when I need a distraction. Helps me to keep my mind bouncing off 50 different things and on one point. In the background, I can process what I need to. Like why I¡¯m considering assassinating a presidential candidate. I¡¯m letting that question percolate while I make the perfect weapons better.¡±

    ¡°You seem to do fine with what you have.¡±

    ¡°Everything could be better, there¡¯s always a better design. A more efficient system, simpler, more compact, more options. Take a look.¡± He said showing her the little SMG.

    ¡°So, what is so special that you can¡¯t just relax?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to relax. Relaxing bothers me. Relaxing is the absence of progress and forward movement. It¡¯s wasted time someone could spend being productive. If I want to enjoy myself, I¡¯ll do something enjoyable, if I want to rest I¡¯ll sleep. Doing nothing accomplishes nothing, and you¡¯re talking about a serious hit here. Even if he¡¯s not the CURRENT president, killing a president is a hell of a suggestion to consider and plan for. Why are you so casual about it?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Because life is about freedom and power. I¡¯ve always had power, money and whatever I needed, so I take what I want. You were poor plumber boy living paycheck to paycheck. This is no longer the case. I get what I want, and I wanted you, so you get what you want now. You want a workshop and men making bullets, we can do that. You want a team designing these for you, say the word. You want to kill a man, you just decide what you need and I get it. You¡¯re no longer confined by money and the law, or by that voice in your head telling you no¡­or that little Tanner getting into trouble. You ARE trouble, Mike. Without you, she¡¯s at less risk, a target for nobody. Not leverage to get to you. You mentored her, if God wants a student, he has one. You have been retired, and when you retire, you don¡¯t work for anyone, you enjoy yourself and do what you want, because we could die tomorrow and you are not getting younger. Why obsess over the perfect gun for the job when you can just pick your favorite, or I can buy you one.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t notice the name on the screen?¡± he smirked. She leaned over him, bracing his arms and intentionally pressing her bare breasts on the back of his head.

    ¡°The 5.7 Morozov. Michael... did you invent another little silver bullet and name it after me?¡± she smiled.

    ¡°Not just named after you. Designed for you. You favor the 5.7mm for it¡¯s compact size and speed, but it lacks range and silence. So I fixed it. The 5.7 Morozov is your bullet, perfected. Smaller package, higher capacity, higher velocity, or a subsonic option with full power, no energy loss.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Mmmmmm¡­old gun shop man said you couldn¡¯t do that. The laws of physics prevent it.¡± she scoffed.

    ¡°Because he¡¯s a moronic fudd thinking in brass and gunpowder, not in tungsten and magnesium. He¡¯s operating within the rules of gunsmiths, not the laws of physics. I can¡¯t change physics, but I don¡¯t play by the gunsmith rules. This round is perfect for you, and that is the gun that fires it.¡±

    ¡°You do realize you have a much better toy to play with right here, don¡¯t you?¡± she said, biting his ear. He got a handful of her hair and pulled her in for a kiss, taking control and, in doing so, doing exactly what she wanted him to.

    ¡°So do you want to kill a president or just fuck and do cocaine? It¡¯s difficult to do both at the same time. Laws of physics and all.¡± Mike whispered.

    ¡°Michael, the weapon you need to perfect is yourself. A fucking BB gun in your hands is sufficient to kill. Don¡¯t you understand? I¡¯m training you. Part of training is letting go and enjoying it. You¡¯re not baffling the police and running from the law, thinking your way out of jail. You¡¯re above that law now. You plan instead of sleeping and eating, and it¡¯s going to kill you, and in a very boring way. You deserve to die in a more exciting manner doing something less planned and more FELT.¡± She almost hissed into his ear. ¡°What do you FEEL you want to do, not what you think you need to do? Tonight, not for the future or a 3-week plan. You need to sleep tonight, exhausted and satisfied, not agitated and still thinking. So what does your heart want when your head isn¡¯t doing ballistic math or calculating how to build a better mousetrap?¡±

    ¡°2 things keep coming to mind. Killing and you. They overlap now and then. Killing with you, or killing you, but you¡¯re stuck in the back of my head and so is that craving for blood.

    ¡°So let¡¯s play. No planning. No rules. Just do it.¡± she said, slithering back so he could see his temptation and get creative.

    ¡°Grab a gun. You wanna go for a ride?¡± he asked.

    The wind rushed past his face, no concern for the speed that the bike was moving, or the familiar worry that if he crashed, he would hurt Tanner. The clawed fingernails of Nadja gripping him borderline painfully as she pulled in close, and deep down he didn¡¯t care if he killed them both or not. There was something freeing about sharing the dance of death with someone he felt connected with, but without the pesky love and affection in the way of being dangerous. Part of him wanted to kill her anyway, part of him wanted to ram the bike into something just to see who would survive, and part of him wanted to just impress her. It was like being young again, the rush of youthful stupid love with the ignorance of any future consequence, except he knew better. He knew the consequences and the risk, and he simply didn¡¯t care, and the bitch breathing down his neck meant nothing in his heart. She was just a treat and a resource that posed the risk of killing him and making it more exciting. He saw the flash of lights behind him and his heart raced, instinctively thinking how to escape or talk his way out, his mind cycling through the legality and the details until a hand raised the plastic neck of a pint bottle of vodka to his mouth and he just accepted it, closing his eyes and letting her pour in the fuel as the bike maintained speed. The bottle emptied and discarded, and he let off the gas, coasting to a leisurely stop, over far too long of a stretch of highway, far enough that the city lights weren¡¯t so bright.

    Mike turned the gas off as Nadja raised her eyebrows and waited, mouth open in shock as she waited to see what he was doing.

    ¡°Sir, do you know how fast you were going?¡± the officer asked as Mike looked up coldly.

    ¡°No idea. Wasn¡¯t paying attention.¡± He said.

    ¡°Double the speed limit. You surely were aware you were going significantly faster than legal.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t really think much of it.¡± he said.

    ¡°Let me handle this.¡± Nadja said, looking up at the officer and smiling devilishly. ¡°How much would it cost to make this speed limit¡­much higher?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Lady, I don¡¯t give a shit how much you got on you, the limit is the limit. We¡¯re not talking about 5 or 10 miles over, you were doing a hundred in a 50 zone, which is beyond reckless endangerment and bribing a cop is illegal too. I can tell you¡¯re not from around here so I¡¯ll pretend I didn¡¯t hear that miscommunication, but this isn¡¯t a warning, I¡¯m arresting your man here.¡±

    ¡°Damn¡­that¡¯s a real shame.¡± Mike nodded calmly. ¡°Part of me wishes you took the bribe¡­¡± he said, drawing his pistol and putting a round through his head. ¡°But part of me is glad you didn¡¯t. Losing money is never this enjoyable.¡± He said getting off the bike and putting another round in him to be sure. ¡°That was.¡± He whispered, getting back on the bike and revving the engine back up.

    ¡°Now that was unexpected.¡± Nadja grinned, holding him close.

    ¡°He chose the wrong night and the wrong bike to pull over, and the wrong bribe to pass up on. I told you I wanted to kill something. He got in the way and made it inconvenient, so I made it a bonus.¡± He said, darkness in his eyes growing. ¡°But not quite the meal I wanted. Call it an appetizer.¡± He said hitting the gas and speeding off.

    ¡°You shot a cop, Mike.¡± She yelled over the wind.

    ¡°I¡¯ve killed cops before. I shot the body cam and used your gun. No witnesses. What is he gonna to do. ID me? All the dashcam is going to show is a bike and blue hair, and your gun killing a cop. So if they do put the pieces together, they¡¯ll back off. Otherwise, they¡¯re looking for you.¡± He smiled. ¡°But if you really want something fun, we¡¯ll have to head back home. I have some old connections back there that you might like to meet.¡± He said, turning the bike around and heading back.

    Tanner woke to someone shaking her, and stuck the gun in Carl¡¯s face.

    ¡°Whoa, shit. Sorry. I tried talking, but you were dead to the world there.¡± Carl defended.

    ¡°What the hell, it¡¯s been like 4 hours.¡± She groaned.

    ¡°Well, I need you to drive, I¡¯ve been driving all day and Mike just took a full U-turn. I can''t face him on no sleep, so we¡¯re trading off. I wanna be fresh when we get there."

    ¡°Get where, what happened, what did I miss, I was asleep for 4 hours.¡± Tanner yawned.

    ¡°I should have told you earlier. Nadja planted a tracker somewhere on me, and they¡¯ve been evading me. What they don¡¯t know is that I¡¯m tracing the tracker and I can track them back. Look here. That¡¯s the same rout I took when I picked you up. He¡¯s heading back to Illinois. Does Mike have a second home there or anything? A bunker, some place nobody knows about?¡±

    ¡°No. Just the storage building with the U-haul in it. We took everything important with us in it. You said the cabin burned down, where would he go?¡± she asked as he got out and went around, basically shoving her into the driver¡¯s seat and handing her a coffee.

    ¡°You tell me. You were banging the guy, living in his home. Why would he turn back? He¡¯s going after the group.¡± Carl sighed.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know that, he could be trapping Nadja, or she could be driving him at gunpoint back there.¡±

    ¡°I can feel it. I shouldn¡¯t have tried to reason with him, told him anything. I had no idea he¡¯d team up with her. I put them all in danger.¡±

    ¡°First off, you tried to kill Mike, maybe he¡¯s just leading you back home to kill you on his turf. Secondly, he¡¯s not teamed up with her, he¡¯s got an angle, and we just don¡¯t know the angle. Lastly, he wouldn¡¯t go after the group unless they were evil people who deserved to die, and then why are you running with them? If you rooted out all the evil fuckers already, then nobody glows, and he won¡¯t kill. That¡¯s how Mike works. If you sent a damn hit squad on him, he might have acted in self-defense, but he won''t hunt them¡­down.¡± She said, looking like a lightbulb went off.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Earth to Tanner. What just happened?"

    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t go kill your group¡­but he might go and screw with them, to lure you in. Carl, he¡¯s setting up a trap for you. He¡¯s gonna mess with your head and bluff and say he has some people hostage or something and lead you to somewhere for a truce, and then like the place is empty and full of bombs or some shit. You¡¯re just getting chauffeured to your death. Not theirs. He may try and flip them, he may use them as a distraction, but I know Mike. He wouldn¡¯t randomly kill people to get to you. He absolutely would pretend to do that, and then kill you.¡±

    ¡°Okay, so what¡¯s the plan. Nadja is with him.¡±

    ¡°The plan is, I walk up and say HEY MIKE! And I cause a distraction while you snipe Nadja. And then I¡¯m fine, and Mike¡¯s fine, and you run like hell and vanish, or you¡¯re dead. You declared war on him. I¡¯m not on your side here, Carl. I¡¯m just shit at tracking people, and you¡¯ll find him before I do, so I¡¯m better off WITH you because I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll kill me, and if I¡¯m here, he won¡¯t just unload on the truck. I am getting my Mike back from that psychopathic prom queen and in exchange for helping, I give you a chance to escape and then in return you never show up again. That¡¯s your only hope. Help me Kill Nadja, run away. You can¡¯t beat Mike, and if I think you got the drop on him, I¡¯ll shoot you myself. You fucked this up, Carl. You could have just gone after Nadja and everything would be fine. You poked the holy bear. If you stay, you¡¯re gonna get mauled. Easy.¡±

    ¡°I have a mission with the group, a calling. If Mike can back away and see that, then I won¡¯t go after him, but I won¡¯t back down from what I¡¯m supposed to do. If Mike hunts me down for doing what God wants or insists on preventing it, then he¡¯s truly gone, and I have to defend myself.¡±

    ¡°And I have to defend Mike. You see why we can¡¯t be part of the same club?¡± Tanner asked. ¡°But if your mission leads me to Mike and I can watch your ass like a hawk when he shows up, then I guess for now we¡¯re working together. So what¡¯s the mission?¡±

    ¡°Mayor Sandlin. We may have his ass.¡±

    ¡°The same mayor Mike was after? He said security was too high of a risk.¡±

    ¡°He meant too high a risk to do alone or risk your life. You were holding him back. We have people willing to die for this, and you¡¯re stronger than Mike thinks. He just loves you too much to gamble with your life. I like you, but I don¡¯t love you like he does. If you want in, you¡¯re in. That¡¯s your risk, you¡¯re capable of doing this. Lets kill a mayor.¡± he grinned.

 Chapter 14: The Gardener

    Tanner¡¯s phone rang. She swerved to answer it, as the jostling woke Carl, and she frantically made a ¡°shush¡± gesture at him.

    ¡°Mike, holy shit. What¡¯s going on?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Bad news mostly. Firstly I want to say that I¡¯m sorry, and I never mean to hurt you. I had only the best intentions for you, which is more than most people can honestly say.¡±

    ¡°When are you coming home?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not. I¡¯m with Nadja now.¡± He sighed sadly.

    ¡°What do you mean you¡¯re WITH Nadja? You¡¯re with me.¡± She corrected.

    ¡°Not anymore. Everything has changed. You¡¯re safer without me.¡±

    ¡°Mike what¡¯s wrong with you; does she have a gun to your head right now?¡±

    ¡°Not at the moment, but occasionally. Sometimes it¡¯s part of the foreplay. Tanner I¡¯m leaving you for Nadja. Just not for the reasons you think.¡± He said.

    ¡°Because she¡¯s hotter and a better killer, or because I¡¯m not just enough?¡± Tanner snipped.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re too good for me. Tanner, I tried to teach you to be a better killer, but you taught me to love again. You taught me that there¡¯s better people in the world than me, doing the right kind of killing. You¡¯re special. Better than her and me. Better than all of us. I was right about you, you were my replacement, but not because I¡¯m too old to do this, but because I¡¯m not who you think¡­who we both thought I was. Tanner you¡¯re a good person, a pure heart with a little monster inside you. That little monster if your friend and it keeps you safe and alive, like a pet. Your guard dog. It follows you and takes orders. The one inside me fights me for control, and Nadja has made me realize something. I was never the hero. I was just meant to FIND and train the hero. You.¡± He added.

    ¡°Mike, you¡¯re MY hero, just come home. We¡¯ll get you sober and fixed and better. I don¡¯t care that you slipped and fell off the wagon, even if it was into Nadja''s pussy. Just get back up, don¡¯t just quit. There¡¯s a new team, and frankly, you could lead them if you wanted. Or just retire with me, and I¡¯ll do the work.¡± She rattled off.

    ¡°I¡¯m not quitting. I¡¯m accepting what I am. I was always hesitant to even touch you, Tanner. I always felt like some predator preying on you, like I convinced you I was a savior and that¡¯s why you wanted me. But I¡¯m not that, and I knew it deep down. I¡¯m just a monster playing preacher to cope. I¡¯m unstable. I deserve Nadja. I don¡¯t deserve you. You deserve better, and I only deserve another monster. I¡¯ve taught you to hunt them better, maybe some day you¡¯ll hunt me.¡±

    ¡°Mike this isn¡¯t you talking. She¡¯s brainwashed you. You¡¯re drunk, I can tell.¡±

    ¡°No, she just broke the illusion. Everything I am is an illusion, and I can¡¯t go back to not knowing it. Once you understand, you can¡¯t un-know what you are. I¡¯m telling you this because you need to move on and stop trying to save me. I saved you because you were worth saving. I¡¯m just¡­finally realizing I¡¯m the same thing I¡¯ve been hunting. Just know if it comes down to it, I won¡¯t hurt you, but it¡¯s alright to kill me. I¡¯d rather die by you than some other monster in some shootout, or a heart attack, or more likely Nadja. One of us might kill the other. And Carl¡­don¡¯t trust him. He¡¯s not as clean as he seems, even if he¡¯s not as covered in blood as I am. Just don¡¯t turn your back on him.¡± He said as she turned to stare at Carl.

    ¡°I don¡¯t trust anyone but you. Mike, what do you want me to do?¡± she sniffled.

    ¡°What I taught you. Hunt and kill what deserves it, but only what you can safely handle. Hunt smart and clear-headed. You¡¯re worth more to this world alive than a martyr. Plan, prepare, cover your ass and do what¡¯s right. If you stay true to the path and stay strong, you¡¯ll lead others, pass it along. But my inner demon isn¡¯t my friend, he¡¯s just me, without the mask of denial. God works in mysterious ways. I have a darker path I can¡¯t let you follow, and you have so much to give the world that I can¡¯t restrict.¡±

    ¡°Mike I love you, and I know you love me. You can¡¯t Love Nadja too, let alone more. I don¡¯t care if you fucked her, you can sober up, and I¡¯ll forgive you. I know you regret it. Mistakes happen.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly it. I don¡¯t regret it. I have to do some horrible things, and she¡¯s better at that than you, because she¡¯s a monster. I can''t lead you into this nightmare, and I can¡¯t beat it alone, I need her because she¡¯s strong enough to do it, and because if you died fighting beside me, I¡¯d never be able to go on. If she dies beside me¡­it¡¯s just a waste of a great piece of meat. I don¡¯t love her. That¡¯s why I can take the risk and let her do the same. I¡¯ll manage. In fact, I might just be the thing that finishes her off. The whole point of good meat is to consume and destroy it. It¡¯s what predators do, Tanner. Don¡¯t be someone¡¯s prey, not even mine. Do better, let me go. Survive.¡± He said, hanging up abruptly as she stared dumbfounded at the horizon in silence.

    ¡°Tanner, listen to me.¡± Carl begged. ¡°Mike is gone. The best you can do is pray for him and help me kill Nadja and Mayor Sandlin. Maybe he can be saved, but not with her alive and not while there¡¯s a mission to do. You have to let him go.¡±

    ¡°Why do I just want to give up? Just¡­run this truck into a semi and end all of this?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You don¡¯t, especially with me in it. You¡¯re just in shock. If you wanna save mike, if you believe we can, we¡¯ll try. Join the group. Help us. What are his secrets, how does he make the silver bullets and how does he make impossible shots?¡±

    ¡°He never taught me how to make the bullets, he said I wasn¡¯t ready to learn. So I don¡¯t know. He said the impossible shots were a trick, just illusions, but if he¡¯s still making them now, I don¡¯t know how. He never really¡­let me in.¡± she said, lightly petting the journals she had flipped through earlier. ¡°I never really knew him as much as he knew me. Carl, what if he IS a monster and everything was bullshit? I still can¡¯t kill him or let someone else. Monster or not, I still love him. I can¡¯t change that. I don¡¯t even know if I can trust him, and he¡¯s the one person I still trust. Fuck, he saved me from prison, he saved my life, he took care of me, got me clean, monster or not I owe him at least my best try to save what¡¯s left.¡± She said, tearing up and trying to focus on the road.

    ¡°Let me make a call. I figured Nadja would be a problem, not nearly this much, but to some degree. I have backup plans. Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll kill the bitch and Mike won¡¯t have any excuse or control.¡± He said dialing the phone and waiting.

    A little flower garden buzzed with the humming of an unknown blonde, bangs, baggy clothes, no more than 5 foot tall. Bare feet brushed by several cats and gloved hands brought a handful of flowers inside the little workshop. The phone rang and awaited the strange figure, gray eyes calmly looking into the distance.

    ¡°Thistle Rae, how is your day.¡± The odd gardener said.

    ¡°Yea, it¡¯s Carl. Mike and Nadja are heading to Illinois, here¡¯s their tracking code, Nadja is a problem for all of us, Can you pull off a scenario 3?¡± he asked as tanner glanced over.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Sure thing, Do I get paid for this?¡±

    ¡°Exactly what we agreed on, double of you bring her head as proof. Just get it done. Operation foxglove is a green light. Effective immediately.¡± He said hanging up.

    ¡°What the hell is all that about.¡±

    ¡°Thistle Rae, The Gardener, as the cops would say. Grows poisonous shit and herbal teas. I figured Nadja would take down anything armed and tactical, and we don¡¯t want a repeat event where Mike is going to just get in the crossfire. They have to stop eventually, a motel or a truck stop. Everyone needs to eat and drink. I trust a poison muffin baked with foxglove seeds or in her coffee more than I trust someone to put a bullet in her head before Mike returns fire or gets in the line of it. So unless, Mikey has an ambulance up his ass and some experience with toxicology, he¡¯s gonna be watching her die, heading home alone, and nobody gets shot up.¡±

    Mike sat at his laptop, obsessing over blueprints and files as usual, while Nadja got some truck stop food. He felt a strange urge to move, like something in him was asking to take over. For once, he let it, polishing off his beer and grabbing the MPX, the thermal scope turned on as he watched carefully, crosshairs on Nadja as the hot coffee cups in her hands glowed brightly and she didn¡¯t. The strange temptation to put a 7mm blackout round through her chest washed over him, and he racked the bolt forward, contemplating why she showed up black as sin in the scope and everyone else just glowed a dim red¡­except one. A white figure walked behind her, from the counter to the far side of the store and to the parking area for employees. He considered opening fire on whatever it was, resisting, and letting Nadja approach with the food and coffee. She climbed in the driver¡¯s seat, chuckling as he stared past her in a fog.

    ¡°Hunting our dinner?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Something is out there. Do you see anyone suspicious in the store?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Everyone looks suspicious in this country. Everyone is weird. Half the people are even armed.¡± She scoffed, biting into her sandwich.

    ¡°Stop eating. Drive around the truck stop slowly, I want a better look at someone.¡±

    ¡°You recognize someone?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No, but I felt the urge to kill someone and I assumed it was just you. Playful temptation, but then I spotted someone in the thermals that was way above normal temperature. There¡¯s a killer in there. What are the odds a killer just happens to be there when you walk in?¡±

    ¡°Mike¡­you¡¯re either too sober or too drunk. You just want to kill someone. Remember, your god is just you¡­telling you what to do. The scope means nothing. You see what you want, and you want to kill someone. You don¡¯t really wan to kill me, just a little curiosity. Kill what you want to kill.¡±

    ¡°So if my mind just creates hallucinations to tell me what I need to do, instinct fairing up like an animal''s neck hair, then why do I want to kill THAT person, specifically. He said, pointing the rifle past her face. Someone I can''t identify, a random person in a scope."

    ¡°Maybe you just spotted the weakest of the herd nobody would mind picking off, or the strongest of the herd that would be a challenge or a nice trophy. This is not a good time to have fun, we will kill later. After dinner.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill now. They haven¡¯t left the car. They¡¯re just sitting there dead still, waiting for something. Carl isn¡¯t close. He sent someone. Why else would a glowstick like that show up and park their ass in waiting. I¡¯m just waiting for the rifle to raise or for them to get out and start walking this way with an Uzi under a coat."

    ¡°Fine. Your instincts mean something, but you overthink them. You found something you like, kill it, but not yet. If things quiet down, when the dark sets in, you can hunt, quietly.¡±

    ¡°So I have your permission now to do what I want as a free killer? How thoughtful of you to grant me this, mistress.¡± He sarcastically brooded. ¡°You wanted Mister Black behind the wheel, you don¡¯t get to drive when he does. I should take them out now. I¡¯ll humor your request to wait till dark because it¡¯s not far off, and I kill better on a full stomach. So don¡¯t mistake negotiation with control. If I decide to kill something, it dies. Even if it''s you, and you struggle.¡± He snarled.

    ¡°Well, now I want you to hunt me. Maybe your thirst for blood is just a thirst for flesh. There¡¯s plenty here to satisfy that.¡± She said, looking annoyed that his attention was locked onto something else and not her, with one leg hiked up on the seat and dropping more than a hint.

    ¡°You¡¯re dessert. There¡¯s a main course out there. You don¡¯t get to celebrate with a treat till I¡¯ve put meat on the table. Order of operations.¡± He said, sipping his coffee and making a strange face. ¡°Did you put something in this for flavor, or is this just shitty coffee?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Black, as we both like it. Though it does have a certain¡­truck stop quality to it.¡±

    ¡°Stop drinking the coffee. How much have you had?¡± he asked.

    ¡°More than I wanted, less than I needed. It¡¯s shit, but I¡¯m very tired.¡± she yawned.

    ¡°Exactly. I was wide awake till had a few sips. Now I feel a little drowsy. You¡¯re slurring your words and your lisp is worse than normal.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you, you like it.¡± she said almost drunkenly.

    ¡°There¡¯s something in the coffee. Take it to the back and pour it down the sink, fill the empty cups with water and put them back in the front holders, then pretend to be asleep and stay awake. Deviate from that in any way and I¡¯ll leave you here defenseless and kill that thing myself. If it doesn¡¯t kill you first, I¡¯ll have my fun without you.¡± He said darkly serious.

    ¡°You¡¯re not joking. Fine I¡¯ll see where you are going with this, and when this bullshit is over you owe me a favor, and I¡¯ll get it. I''m in control.¡± she scowled.

    ¡°Keep telling yourself that, while you do what I told you.¡±

    Thistle stepped out of the parked, car, loosely draped lace and layers of tattered coat hiding something, a purse of goodies. As Thistle rounded the back of the U-haul, the soft click of a shiny chrome revolver was drowned out by the hefty thump of someone hitting the floor, hard. The door was locked, Thistle peaked into the passenger door of the cab and tried the side door, opening it and stepping in. Upon seeing 2 unconscious bodies, the revolver went back into the holster and the bag of tricks plopped onto the table. A roll of tape, a syringe with a very large empty chamber and then finally the big revolver holster. Thistle took a few steps to lock the door and turned to meet a pistol butt striking firmly to the head, followed by Mike pointing a knife.

    ¡°Who¡¯s crazy now?¡± he grinned as Nadja stepped into the back, looking confused as hell.

    ¡°What is this¡­robbery?¡± she asked.

    ¡°THAT is our killer. Sedatives in the coffee, a 38 special loaded with hollowpoints, and a syringe. That, I believe, is The Gardener. Sedates victims for torture, nobody knows what kind, but they thought the first 3 were just heart attacks until they found the tape residue and did a more detailed tox screen for herbal poisons. Some concoction that makes you hallucinate and experience fear and anxiety when you wake. Finally, a syringe full of air to the jugular. Looks like a heart attack if you don¡¯t know any better. Check the bag. Bleach, sulfuric acid, a thermos of dry ice. This fucker was going to torture and kill us like the other 7 victims. And you were going to drink the shitty coffee. You¡¯re welcome.¡± He said coldly, grabbing the syringe and filling it with air, delivering the killing dose and holding Thistle¡¯s mouth until the struggling stopped.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say you recognized this killer earlier?¡± she asked with a puzzled look.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t. There are no records of a positive ID, so I had no idea what the damn gardener looked like. Could have been a 13-year-old boy or a 90-year-old woman for all I knew. I just recognize the tools and the MO.¡± He said, looking up as she stood dumbfounded. ¡°I told you they glow on the thermals. So here we are again asking¡­why don¡¯t you? You¡¯re a killer, probably worse than half the people I¡¯ve shot down. Everyone glows before they die by my hand. You¡¯re ice-cold. You think god is just my instinct or insanity? How did I know by a sudden whisper in my head and an urge to kill something that I needed to, and we just happened to be moments before getting taken out by a fucking cup of coffee and some air?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­really know.¡± She gasped sarcastically, smiling like she knew a secret.

    ¡°Looks like someone was wrong. God isn¡¯t just Mike in a bottle. God wants Mister Black and you, working together. And wouldn¡¯t you know it, I happen to keeping a little surprise treat from you. I need you to help me kill Mayor Jacob Sandlin.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Because I wanna kill him, because it would be fun. That¡¯s your excuse. Mine doesn¡¯t matter. God works in mysterious ways. You like the challenge and I have planned this out for a year waiting for God to send me my partner, and then I backed down because I couldn¡¯t bear the idea of little Tanner getting killed on a suicidal mission with high security and too many variables. So he sent me someone meaner, deadlier, someone who doesn¡¯t give a shit and someone I could live with getting killed. And then you refused to work with a preacher, you wanted to tango with Mister Black and play psychopath together.¡± He grinned, stabbing the knife down into thistle¡¯s skull for no reason but the hell of it. ¡°So let¡¯s play. We can¡¯t kill a former president without months of planning¡­we can kill a mayor on Friday, and whoever gets in our way, all week long.¡±

    ¡°Michael, you are either the most insane person I have ever met or the most brilliant killer alive, and I would play psychopath with either one.¡± She smirked, jumping him and tearing his shirt off 8 feet away from the dead body and the slow trail of blood making its way across the floor.

 Chapter 15: Its not a cult!

    Nadja peered up at Mike, who was deep in thought at the moment, distracted, even with a naked Russian girl draped over him on the floor of the slightly bloody U-haul.

    ¡°You are plotting again.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°Perpetually. Let me ask something odd. Do you trust me with your money?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Not all of it, How much do you want?¡± She sighed.

    ¡°Undetermined, but it¡¯s necessary, and I feel that it¡¯s a better surprise if you don¡¯t know the details. I have an idea, but it hinges on one expensive gamble and if it doesn¡¯t work you¡¯ll be less disappointed just not knowing. If it makes you feel any better I tend to win at gambling and at this exact kind of project.¡± Mike shrugged.

    ¡°Strange and mysterious man you are. Da, take the card. Buy whatever you want. If you run out, that¡¯s all you get, I have more. You can tell me then, and beg for more. If you¡¯re just stealing from me, I will just kill you. I have nothing to worry about.¡±

    ¡°Is it strange that I¡¯m tempted to fake that betrayal, purely so you¡¯ll try and kill me?¡±

    ¡°You have death wish, or you just think I won¡¯t do it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I believe you would genuinely try if pushed to a point. I¡¯m curious every day to see who would win that. The longer I wait, the older I get, the higher chance is that you¡¯d succeed, which makes me almost feel a sense of urgency to rush that options while it¡¯s still an option. Plus I think you¡¯d miss the fun too much.¡±

    ¡°You do realize there are things I can do to hurt you that won¡¯t kill you.¡± She said rolling on top of him and looming over his face with hers, eyes gleaming in the dark like an animal¡¯s reflective pupils. ¡°Things I have experience in.¡±

    ¡°Maybe later.¡± He replied, leaning up to kiss her and discreetly taking the knife out of her hand as he slipped away and got up. He sat at his computer and slid the truck keys to the edge of the desk as if to insist she drive.

    ¡°Do you ever sleep, Michael? I¡¯ve been with you for a week and every time I fall asleep you¡¯re watching me, when I wake you are on that computer, plotting, or tinkering.¡±

    ¡°Ever since my wife and kid died, I can¡¯t sleep. I just black out and fall into a nightmare I never remember, and it wakes me up. It¡¯s more like turning the body off for a nap while the mind just transports to hell for the duration. And then I wake with my heart racing and adrenaline up, the idea of fear and a bad dream, but no memory of the dream itself. Almost exactly 45 minutes, like clockwork. I do that about 2-3 times a night and give up. One Doctor called it trauma-induced abnormal parasomnia, another called it a sensory seizure triggered by falling asleep. I call it a reason to stay awake. The work is my meditation, I can get lost in the CAD designing and ballistic math for a few hours, and it feels like a blink. It¡¯s when I do my best work, and I rarely remember the process. Autopilot, just possession of a second self that lets me sleep with my eyes open while it crafts a better killing device for me to wake up to. There¡¯s always a way to make something more lethal, to make a smaller or lighter weapon deliver more power in a smaller bullet with higher capacity.

    At some point I may as well just design a doomsday bomb to wipe the world clean with a pull of a trigger, but in the meantime, I just shave off ounces of weigh, add more range and magazine storage, make smaller bullets more lethal, and making killing slightly quieter. Sometimes I watch the people I¡¯ve killed slip away through that line between alive and dead, and the quiet passing of it is like falling asleep. Makes me jealous. One of the reasons I don¡¯t fear death. I enjoy being alive but part of me is wearing thin and in need of rest and taking a life feels like delivering peace. The act itself, and then knowing the people I kill will no longer makes others suffer, it¡¯s both calming and visually like watching sleep in its final form. It¡¯s permanent. It¡¯s complete. Knowing one day I¡¯ll sleep forever without the nightmares is, in itself, calming. So planning a kill is like¡­preparing a work of art, just for me. If I fail and someone kills me instead, then I just finally got some damn rest via the brush of a better artist. No family to leave behind, no friends to mourn me. Just rest. It¡¯s cleansing. What about you? What does killing do for you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I grew up feeling powerless. Everyone thinks rich girl, no problems, but in Russian family of politics¡­money solves problem, but the family name that made it creates them. Responsibility to a legacy you never asked for, representation of your ancestors and all those after you and eyes watching your every move. Sit straight, act properly, marry more money, make more money, only spend money if it gains you more money. It¡¯s pointless. Why have money if you can¡¯t even buy your freedom? What it can buy is power. Loyalty, guns, immunity to jail. Most people are not like you. They fear death. Fear is power, control. Nobody tells you what to do when you have a gun to their head, and nobody ever tells you that you can¡¯t do what you want if they are dead. Killing is surviving, and surviving lets you do more killing. That freedom and power is like drugs, it takes over and for a moment you are a god. Not the kind you like to believe in, but the kind that most people do. The God most people understand is fear, and power, and death and such a tiny bullet or a little razor blade can just¡­remove all their power from you. Just like that. Ironically the dead are also free. No loyalty, no responsibility, no fear. So I enjoy the power it gives me, and I will die to remain powerful. In death, I have become free as well, so there is no fear. We have taken very different routs to the same ending point and no longer let death have any power over us, because the only power that death can have on the living¡­is fear.¡± She said, ¡°So there is no defeating us. We simply continue to win until one day we have peaked and retire. We haven¡¯t lost, we have just¡­cashed out and left. Winning so much that the casino says Nyet, this is too much for us, go home, take what you have done and leave, the game has ended, but you have still enjoyed it, and there is no losing. We are born with nothing, we leave behind an empire, so win a little or win a lot, play again tomorrow or go home today, you have won more than you started with and enjoyed the game. The only ones losing are the ones too weak to take what they want because of fear. Fear that they will lose what they have earned. So they never play.¡± She said picking up the 38 revolver and placing down 5 bullets on the table. Spinning the chamber and laying her head on Mike¡¯s, lining up the barrel with both of them and clicking the hammer down, neither of them flinching.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that have been a comical way to cash out?¡± Mike smiled. ¡°One last stupid gamble, and both of us dead.¡± He laughed quietly as she chuckled with him, setting the revolver down and heading to the driver¡¯s seat. He stared at the gun, pointed away from him. He wondered if she even left one in the gun, or just pretended to see if he would flinch. Knowing either way would spoil the fun so he carefully opened the revolver, spinning it and dropping a few rounds in, tossing it aside and throwing the rest out the window. He sat in the passenger seat, with her in the cab, paying so much attention to her that he wasn¡¯t entirely sure how many rounds he tossed and how many were in the gun, or if it started with one or on empty. By the time he was tempted to check, he would have forgotten and doubted anything he remembered.

    Tanner rolled up to the destination, in the passenger seat of the truck, as Carl silently stared.

    ¡°This is it.¡± he said, looking at a rundown abandoned church surrounded by cars. ¡°This is the AA group house. You ready to be one of us?¡± he asked, looking at her. ¡°You belong with us. The leftovers, the rejected that got a second chance, the killers with a purpose and meaning, like this old building that people forgot and left to rot, now home to something greater than the shitheads that congregated in it before us. You¡¯re home.¡±

    ¡°I killed one of them escaping. You think they¡¯re gonna welcome me in with a hug and start singing hymns?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Well we¡¯re all killers here so it¡¯s not as crazy as you¡¯d think, to assume the craziest thing you can think of. You¡¯re with me, and they know that. They know I¡¯m the one chosen to lead, and what I say sticks. So they won¡¯t try and hurt you.¡± he assured.

    ¡°Wow, very not a cult of them.¡± She said grabbing her gun and checking to see if it was loaded. ¡°Just in case I don¡¯t trust you do be honest with me. I trust this gun a little more.¡± She whispered. ¡°It protects me too. They know what I can do with a pocket knife so with this, it sticks. So they won''t try and hurt me.¡± She mocked.

    They walked in as the gang of strays and misfits looked up with varying emotions from suspicious glares to smiles and confusion. One of the men stood up aggressively as Carl flashed his Skorpion to settle him down.

    ¡°I thought we had a rule here. Guns stay in the cars, and only the leader gets to carry. So why does this literal backstabbing bitch get to walk around with her little red plastic 22?¡± he asked, his mustache filtering his dark booming voice.

    ¡°Hey, I understand Camaro was your friend. You two got along right away, and he¡¯s dead now, but I make the rules here, and she is different. She kills to survive. If she killed him, it¡¯s because he overstepped and asked for it. So everyone, listen up. This is Tanner, she is with me. If anyone hurts her, they ANSWER to me. Simple as that. You¡¯re all here because some of us get second chances and some don¡¯t, and you¡¯re all believers, or you wouldn¡¯t be here. So don¡¯t bite the hand that feeds you, and in this business people who fuck up sometimes die. Nobody wants a war started over one dead arsonist, okay?¡± Carl said, as the larger man stepped up anyway, crossing his arms.

    ¡°How do you know what I want? This is supposed to be a group of equals, and you said that any violence within the group would result in punishment and/or exile. So go ahead, punish her and exile her. I¡¯ll watch.¡± He insisted as Carl fumed silently.

    ¡°Rules change. I made the rules here so I can change them, and you¡¯ll respect them or leave because I¡¯m here for a higher power, and you¡¯re here to either assist that or get in the way of it. She¡¯s a small girl in a house of bigger men and bigger brand name killers with a reputation of being unfriendly to smaller women. So, letting her have a gun for now, is equality. Or would you like to argue that one more time.¡± He said unholstering his pistol and holding it at his side. Without warning Carl collapsed and hit the floor, the brute stepping back in confusion as Tanner stood shaking her head and holding a syringe, a mildly annoyed cartoonish tilt highlighting her crooked expression and one cheek dimple. She sighed dramatically and playfully leaned the barrel of her little SMG on her right pigtail scrunchy.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°God, he just never shuts up. It¡¯s just lie and after lie¡­and now there he lies, right on the floor. Put down by his own knockout shit.¡± Tanner shrugged nonchalantly as if going into her own little zone. ¡°You¡¯re all here because you¡¯re believers¡­what a bunch of crap-ass cult garbage. You¡¯re here because you¡¯re saving your asses clustering for strength in numbers, and here Carl is waving his gun dick around like I don¡¯t have my own gun dick right here. Threaten my Mike and then turn his back on me. Fucking moron. How many of you people really believe in this chosen one thing? The chosen one lying on the ground right now because some stabby bitch gave him a stabby, and now I got the only gun, and he¡¯s just kinda laying on his. That doesn¡¯t seem very chosen-ey. That kinda seems like a God-complex. So if you all really believe Carl¡­a guy named fucking CARL for shit¡¯s sake, is the chosen one, then y¡¯all got your own problems, because look, I could shoot him right now and God¡¯s not really stopping me. If anything he seems to be letting me win this. So no offense but¡­why did you guys elect him king? Just some dickhole named CARL. That¡¯s some cult shit. Some random white dude named Carl declares himself king, and you guys just roll with it? Come aaaaahn, you just went with it for the second chance to not be in prison. I get it. I did the same thing, except Mike might actually BE the chosen one. That might not even be a thing, but if it is, it¡¯s totally Mike.¡±

    ¡°Carl may be a jerk, but he¡¯s the best killer here. The Lakeshot shooting, taking out the boss of the old group after taking down that safehouse alone to save one hooker. That¡¯s a man I''d follow.¡± Said Mustache.

    ¡°WH-¡­that lying shit! He¡¯s not the Lakeshot shooter he just looted Mike¡¯s house after he left. Mike was the Lakeshot shooter, HE wiped out the old group and the safehouse, and even he has a little help with that. I would know¡­I¡¯M THE HOOKER HE WENT IN AFTER!¡± she said stomping her little foot with every bold word she emphasized.

    ¡°So Carl was lying about everything?¡± he scoffed.

    ¡°Well he did shoot the lead bitch, but Mike ordered him to do that because he was sorta busy mopping the floor with the safehouse team for me, and she was cowering in her castle in the woods. He did the one thing. We can have that truthful version when he wakes up if you wanna wait and hold your doubts. But yea I¡¯m the girl, and I don¡¯t need Carl''s protection because he abducted me to begin with and then went to kill Mike, so Mike couldn¡¯t come back and claim the throne. It¡¯s like a medieval power vacuum in here. Just testosterone and bullshit and I¡¯m kinda over it. If anything I¡¯m the chosen one because Mike supposedly passed down his whatever God favoritism to me. So if it¡¯s not total bullshit, then you¡¯re still following the wrong whitewashed Ginger Jesus and you should be doing what Mike says. He was even a literal preacher for fuck¡¯s sake. He had his own legit church. So screw Carl. He was trying to murder your chosen one, and steal his seat, so if you really believe this whole thing, stick around for Mike to come back and if not, then go home. I don¡¯t care. I just won''t be anyone¡¯s captive. I might even shoot him. I don¡¯t wanna. I kinda wanna, I won¡¯t. I might later."  she huffed. Mustache picked up Carl¡¯s gun, chambering it and pointing it at Tanner who just looked even more annoyed.

    ¡°So everyone is lying. Maybe the Lakeshot shooter is dead, maybe nobody took down the safehouse alone, and Mike is a nobody, so whoever has the gun is in charge. Let God settle it?¡± he chuckled heretically ¡°I¡¯m not listening to a woman, and certainly not one who killed a member of this group, that unlike Carl, was one of us, not ruling over us.¡±

    ¡°Bro¡­ I¡¯m telling you if you shoot me, Mike¡¯s gonna fuck up your world in ways you can¡¯t imagine. Also, aim, higher dumbass.¡± She said, pushing his suppressor up with hers, to head level. ¡°Don¡¯t shoot someone in the sternum, they don¡¯t die instantly, they could shoot you back, you''re a terrible killer with piss-poor leadership skills. The brain is a KO guarantee even in that little dorky 9mm Vladamir or whatever caliber it is, Russian 380 auto, 9mm ball-less. Even that thing kills with a headshot. God, you suck at this.¡± She said, turning her head. ¡°Is this the guy you want leading you? Doesn¡¯t even know how to shoot someone right, ejected a good round out racking it, when it was already loaded. Come on people. You just nudge the slide and look for brass, now there¡¯s a round on the ground, someone could trip over that and get hurt. Put the toy down, sweetie. Actual killers are having a serious conversation here.¡± She said with an attitude.

    ¡°Really. Well so far all you did was wave a gun and talk. So let¡¯s see who the real killer is.¡± He said pulling the trigger as the hammer struck the tracking blank round. Nothing happened. Tanned rolled her eyes in annoyance.

    ¡°UHhhhh! Please tell me the safety was on, and you didn¡¯t really try and just shoot me. Hell no, tell me that was a bluff right NOW!¡± she scolded. He frantically racked the gun again and chambered the explosive dummy round, pulling the trigger as the gun blew up in his hand, injuring his hand in the process and destroying the gun. She stared in amazement. ¡°...Well that was hilariously unexpected.¡± Tanner huffed, putting a 7mm bullet in his head and shutting up the screaming. The room went silent.

    "What happened?" said someone in the back.

    ¡°Shit, maybe Mike did actually pass down his God favor thing. Am I¡­?¡± she smiled scrunching her eyebrows playfully. ¡°Am I the chosen one for real?¡± she giggled. ¡°Oh come on that was not even planned. I''m a shocked as you here. What are the odds a gun Carl uses for literally everything and never breaks just blows up right when it¡¯s aimed at me¡­I should be dead. Okay, let¡¯s just, take a deep breath and assess the situation, Blessed be. So Carl sucks, we agree, Uh, there¡¯s no leader now because that guy is dead and that kinda looked like a sign to me. So if anyone doesn¡¯t believe in miracles like... just go home I guess. It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m not even mad, you do you. If you also think that was some spooky shit, and wanna stick around, you can help me tie up Carl and when he wakes up he¡¯ll confirm everything I said, he folds super easy with me and just blurts the truth. He knows I¡¯m super stabby and Mike¡¯s favorite. Or God¡¯s favorite, or Mike is God¡¯s¡­the point is I¡¯m doing a vote. We vote the leader right now, while this spooky shit is still fresh and ominous. And then we all just do what we do and go take down the Mayor. That was Mike¡¯s goal for me, so if he¡¯s not here, and he¡¯s passed that job on. I¡¯m gonna do it. So I nominate myself, hey everyone.¡± She posed, smiling and shrugging with a little blush ¡°And if you wanna be the cult leader here...I mean it¡¯s not a cult anymore. But if you wanna be nominated as not a cult leader, just stand up, look I¡¯m even putting my gun down. Nobody¡¯s gonna grab it, or it will just blow up and kill them anyway. Show of hands, everyone who¡¯s staying. Who thinks I¡¯m the leader, there are no consequences for voting me out, I¡¯ll just leave and pout. I¡¯ll take my gun and go. Hand up, show of hands, everybody hands. What do we got. 1,2 wow, like most you people. Seriously if you wanna leave, just go. It¡¯s fine.¡± She said smiling as 2 people left and most stood up respectfully. ¡°Oh wow, I really appreciate this, guys. I didn¡¯t even know I was gonna be nominated to be a cul-a group leader today, and this¡­¡± she said tearing up. ¡°This is the coolest moment of my life. Okay it¡¯s official, like you can tell we don¡¯t need to count it¡¯s like most people and now the other ones are doing it too so they don¡¯t look dumb. It¡¯s fine, we all have moment of doubt in our faith, and you¡¯re forgiven. Fuck it, Everyone go to your car and get your guns. The new rule is everyone gets guns except Carl. Who is now our official tied to a chair mascot, until Mike decided what to do with him and until Mike¡¯s glorious return¡­I guess I¡¯ll be in charge.¡± She smiled, waving dramatically like the Queen of England, or the winning Miss Serial Killer America Pageant.

    Mike picked up the Phone, pushing Nadja off him to answer it.

    ¡°Hello Carl. You son of a bitch. I got your little present, dead in a trash bag. Keep sending them, I¡¯ll keep bagging them up. Every damn one. Send a few at a time so they have a chance, you chicken shit, because we both know you¡¯ll never step anywhere near me yourself.¡± Mike said darkly.

    ¡°MIKE! It¡¯s Tanner. I did a cult! I did it! Are you proud of me? I mean it¡¯s not a cult, it¡¯s a group, but I''m leading it! YAY. Be proud of me. Tell me I''m pretty and come home.¡±

    ¡°Tanner? This is Carl¡¯s phone.¡± He said.

    ¡°Yea, I knocked him out and stole it. I got you on speakerphone for the group, Carl is hogtied so he can¡¯t talk but Mike we have a cult now! I mean we have a group. You were right, I¡¯m really doing things, I¡¯m ready, come home we can have cake and kill the Mayor.¡± She said, bopping side to side like a little cheerleader.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you¡­knocked out Carl, hogtied him and took over the AA group?¡± he said in disbelief.

    ¡°Yea.¡± Tanner said with a joyful smile, bottling her squeaky emotions. ¡°We did it, you taught me good you can come home now and kill the mayor!¡± she grinned.

    ¡°Tanner I am¡­so proud of you. I never doubted you, but this is faster than I ever thought you would progress. You did it. You organized the group, you took my job over. Well done, Tanner. You earned it. But I¡¯m not coming home. See this is proof that you¡¯re ready to do my work there, locally. Grow the group, make a difference, do what¡¯s right. But that¡¯s exactly what you were supposed to do. Destined to do. Replace me. I¡¯m old. I¡¯m not the best anymore, hell I needed your help to take out Carl. People like you, they need you there, leading. Let me handle the Mayor. It¡¯s a suicide mission, Tanner. It¡¯s not for my replacement to get killed doing, it¡¯s for me to do and you to take my place.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ Mike I did this for us. I can¡¯t do this alone.¡± she said frowning.

    ¡°Clearly you can, and you¡¯re not alone anymore.¡± Mike said sadly. ¡°Tanner it was you all along. Use that, let me go down in flames of glory doing my one last mission instead of dying in a retirement home while some new Carl waits to take me out in my sleep. You fell in love with an old monster on his last leg and ready to go down fighting, don¡¯t waste your life chasing me. Live it. Lead others.¡± He said, hanging up suddenly and sighing with a look of defeat.

    ¡°I love¡­¡± Tanner said, stopping in silence. ¡°Bye.¡±

    ¡°That looked painful.¡± Nadja sighed.

    ¡°She¡¯s a good girl, she¡¯ll do good things without me. I loved someone like her once, and she got killed because of me. I¡¯d rather break her heart than get her killed. I¡¯ll never let that happen to someone I love again. I¡¯ve lost 2 Gwens already to this calling.¡±

    ¡°So you don¡¯t love me?¡± said Nadja with a fake pout.

    ¡°Like a heroin addiction. Something I hate and need but can¡¯t quit, that is destined to poison and kill me like a glorious plague.¡± He said coldly. ¡°But I deserve no more or less.¡±

    ¡°Well it sounds so romantic when you say it like that, Michael. Love is weakness. You know that from what I have just observed. But don¡¯t act like I am only silver medal.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re more than a piece of silver. You¡¯re worth 30 of them for my broken soul. I guess we don¡¯t get to kill Carl. We¡¯ll have to just find entertainment elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t think he has already given orders among the group to sneak out and hunt us down? She may be safe with her little church group and your God, but¡­you still have enemies to face and new ones to make. So do not look so sad. You did the right thing, protecting the little lamb from what we are, and what we attract. But the fun is not over. If they do not come, we will find them. You and your¡­ glowing scope will always find something to hunt. Maybe when you are really ready to retire, we hunt each other.¡± She grinned. ¡°Don¡¯t get old on me yet, Holyman. We have very important people to kill yet. People you were created to hunt, the real challenges.¡± She whispered. Kissing his head and holding him, eye open like a constrictor, playing with her food, squeezing just enough to remind him what she is. "Promise to kill me a president, Mister chosen one, and I will swear an oath to never lay a hand on Tanner. Preferably signed in blood."

 Chapter 17: Meet The Cult

    Tanner sat at an old wooden table, the group gathered around like a proper cult. Weapons on the table and a stained-glass window high behind Tanner, gave a strange multicolored glow to her, as if to provide her chosen-one lighting. Her Geisha makeup running from crying and her butterfly knife in hand, twirling randomly. Near her left side sat a heavily tattooed young man with unnecessary sunglasses and all black clothing, hair buzzed short and a goatee. He broke the silence.

    ¡°Sorry about your boyfriend.¡± He whispered.

    ¡°Can we not though? Can we not start this meeting with that shit? Look, Mike is protecting us, me mostly. He doesn¡¯t think I¡¯m ready WHICH I CLEARLY AM!... But he thinks Mayor Sandlin is a suicide mission and he¡¯s playing the martyr role. He¡¯s also OBVIOUSLY using Nadja as some kind of pawn, I just don¡¯t know how. He¡¯s playing lost, but I know Mikey, he¡¯s not like that, and he¡¯s not just cheating on me with some Russian hoe. It¡¯s some deep cover shit because he thinks nobody else can do this but him, and that¡¯s where I think he¡¯s wrong. We¡¯re gonna do the hit before he does, and show him we¡¯re all good enough to be a team he can lead. Except I don¡¯t know any of you and I don¡¯t know if anyone else is even any good, but Carl wouldn¡¯t just pick any random dickheads, some of you gotta be badass, so we¡¯re going around the table. Name, how you kill, and why you kill. Let¡¯s keep judgment down and honesty high. We can''t afford to lose people, so differences aside, we¡¯re all looking at prison time and trying to form a partnership.¡± she said, nodding. ¡°I¡¯ll start with you. Samuel Motherfuckin Jackson¡¯s older brother." She said as a black man with a graying beard solemnly turned and patiently answered.

    ¡°Theo Miller. Back in my day I was the OG Chicago club enforcer. Boss said to handle shit, I handled shit. Sometimes I handled shit with a body bag and a 45. I did time, got out with some favor pull. Got offered a shit job running errands for young bucks running the show. I handled shit too good for them. I don¡¯t like disrespect, so I went freelance for a while¡­retired 20 years ago.¡±

    ¡°How good are you with a gun?¡± Tanner asked

    ¡°I¡¯m good with a handgun or shotgun, but I¡¯m not winning the Olympic pistol metals. They got another hitman there anyway, taking silver.¡±

    ¡°Okay that¡¯s promising. Viking Dexter. What¡¯s your deal?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Snowman. I worked road construction, got sick of cars swerving at me, so one day I unloaded a gun on one of them. Killed a guy. Just snapped and didn¡¯t want witnesses, so I shot the other two road workers and stole the car. The thrill was pretty addictive. Tried to quit, kept on not quitting. Did 3 more paid kills.¡±

    ¡°Okay back that up¡­ fucking SNOWMAN?¡± she squinted.

    ¡°I sold blow for 5 years. Everyone called me the Snowman.¡±

    ¡°Yea no, what¡¯s your actual name?¡± She insisted.

    ¡°Elroy Collins.¡± He said almost looking embarrassed.

    ¡°...mkay. Maybe we can just call you Snow. I assume with a name like Elroy, the Mohawk, and that beard, that you have some redneck gun experience?¡±

    ¡°Hunting rifles, shotguns, grew up on a farm. I¡¯m pretty good with a rifle.¡±

    ¡°Okay, so far we got our sniper, our handgun guy. What about you? You don¡¯t really look like a killer.¡± She said to the skinny guy in the floral pattern button-up shirt, tortuous shell glasses, and his hair gelled up.

    ¡°Lincoln Rasooli. Hispanic mom, Italian dad. Grew up in the wrong side of New York. I did a few drive-bys to earn some respect. 6 dead confirmed, 3 that might have been me or the other guy in the car, still dead. Moved here to hide out. Guy talked some shit and I had to make him vanish, now cops got me as a suspect. Tech-9 kinda guy, but any auto 9mm works for me.¡± He said placing two of them on the table. ¡°I wanted that reveal.¡± He said, adjusting his glasses.

    ¡°Okay I stand corrected. You seem fairly lethal. Team small packages, big body count.¡± She said, leaning out to bump fists. Now YOU, Captain Sparrow of the SS 3 ring circus¡­look like someone I would assume has tortured people.¡± She said as the grinning man in the tophat wearing eyeliner man, early 30¡¯s. He nodded and tipped his hat, neck length hair pulled back, beard and mustache trimmed meticulously and a cross necklace around his neck. A gold skull adorning his walking stick and far more leather than anyone with eyeliner should be wearing outside a fetish club.

    ¡°You¡¯d be right. All deserved. Alexander Windrek. Former colleagues if mine addressed me as Windex because I did the cleaning. Former biker, I have thus far lead a small biker gang till I took a couple of rounds to the leg. I procured a beverage establishment of the adult variety, started my own clubhouse, obviously a front for drugs and prostitution. I send to the grave, only people who earned it, nobody else, I have a strict code. I just get a little drunk and wild sometimes.¡± he grinned.

    ¡°That sounds familiar. Do you hear God, and stay sober to do his work?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Sober? Ma''am I confess I am quite drunk right now. I¡¯m only a problem when I¡¯m sober.¡± He said eerily serious, tapping his black painted nails.

    ¡°Don¡¯t have a gun to reveal?¡± she asked. He drew a sword out of his cane and plopped it on the table.

    ¡°Guns get you searched, arrested when you look like me. I like to improvise, and I prefer something sharper you never have to reload. After nearly 2 years learning to walk properly again the cane went from a necessity to a familiar friend, and I like my friends dangerous.¡±

    ¡°Loose¡­cannon. Best for releasing in¡­shitstorm.¡± She said aloud, writing it down on her notebook. ¡°You afraid to die?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ll let you know when I get to hell and see the accommodations.¡± He grinned sadistically.

    ¡°Loose¡­screws¡­on cannon.¡± Okay, moving on to the¡­also creepy guy in full leather¡­ Why is everyone in leather? Ugh, Skinny Dave Batista. What¡¯s your situation?¡± She asked.

    ¡°18 kills, mostly 9mm.¡± he said casually, a hint of a Russian accent he was trying to hide. I am Dillon Whitman.¡± He said lighting a cigarette and acting as if they would just move on to the next person.

    ¡°Russian accent in Illinois, sure. What¡¯s your real name and why are you really here?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Fine. Fucking American accent is impossible anyway. Yuri Daro Vilensky. I lost my job recently and would like to kill my boss. You will help me do this.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but this is MY cult¡­I mean group, and we don¡¯t do side quests for the Russian mafia. Why would I risk my ass to help you kill your boss?¡± she asked. "Who''s your old boss anyway?"

    ¡°Nadja Morozov Ivanova. I despise her. She¡¯s fucking your boyfriend, I assume you would want her dead about as much as I do. I didn¡¯t have a choice but to do her bitchwork for a year. She shot me for not smuggling her guns into the USA, which I told her was impossible. I was left on the street to die. Luckily I wore vest and luckily the ammo I gave her was not armor piercing as they said when sold to me. Fuck her, she must die. So we are friends, yes?¡± he asked. Tanner blinked slowly.

    ¡°I¡¯m learning that I¡¯m wrong a lot about people today, Apparently, we, in fact, do side quests. The primary goal is to bring back Mike and make him see that we are good enough for him to come back to. And part of that likely included killing that bitch. So I¡¯d really prefer you just cripple her and let me finish the killing¡­ buuut I¡¯ve met her. Taking her alive is not¡­super safe or likely. I¡¯ll accept just a bullet riddled corpse as proof you tried. Welcome to the cult. I mean AA group. Everyone keep an eye on this guy, because he¡¯s either a spy and our most likely turncoat, or our best ally in this bullshit. I¡¯m suspiciously optimistic, but I may start a no guns for you policy until we go live at the courthouse¡­that fair?¡±

    ¡°Tolerable.¡± He said.

    ¡°What about you, mister fancy expensive clothing, possibly British, and are you drinking vodka during the meeting?¡± she asked. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°Heavens no. Never touch the stuff.¡± He said in a proper, but American accent. "Bottled water, I trust nothing else.¡± Said the young lad, long tan Sherlock Holmes coat and the shiniest dress shoes she ever saw propped on a table. Light brown hair and the kind of scruffy beard stubble people work hard to maintain to look rugged ¡°Rowan Birch, medical school dropout, mortician for a few years. I¡¯ve never actually killed anyone.¡± He said, sipping calmly.

    ¡°Sooooo. You just got the wrong address, heard too much, and now we can¡¯t let you leave or what?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Oh I¡¯m very much on the run and facing prison as most of you are. I said I never killed anyone, I didn¡¯t say I wasn¡¯t a criminal. I¡¯m a mortician for Christ¡¯s sake. ¡±

    ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t screw the dead bodies.¡± She sighed, facepalming. "I just...Corpsefucker is not overly helpful in this whole thing."

    ¡°I¡¯m insulted by that assumption. I assure you I¡¯ve never defiled a body in a sexual manner, or any way that a skilled butcher wouldn¡¯t. I¡¯m quite good with a knife and I may have committed the unforgivable sin of taking a few samples home from my work before cremation. What a tragedy to save a piece of perfectly good meat before burning it anyway. 12 women, all very dead on arrival, all very dead on cremation, as if it made a difference what anyone did between the two events. But no, I''m a butcher, I don¡¯t fuck the meat. Did you know prison is very unkind to cannibalism, but for some reason gang violence and murder is perfectly accepted? Rather unfair to me, it seems. What a society we live in of misplaced priorities. But, I may be the closest thing you have a doctor and the best body disposal expert you have, and I doubt you people would report me for¡­disposing of some evidence in butter and garlic.¡± He said chuckling, switching which foot was on the tabletop.

    ¡°Great. That¡¯s just great. So no military trained snipers, or black ops guys, or international hitman with some insane spy skills and connections to people? Just a douchey cannibal. Lame. Please tell me you¡­young sunglasses¡­are actually a wealthy son of a highly connected secret agent or something.¡± She said now returned to the first guy to speak up. He looked nervous in the spotlight.

    ¡°Uh, no. Caleb Gram. That¡¯s my real last name. I sell drugs and steal cars. I stole a really expensive car with a pretty important dead guy in the trunk I didn¡¯t know about, and got set up for murder.¡± he sighed nervously.

    ¡°So you haven¡¯t¡­ even killed anyone either?¡± she blinked. ¡°Assassins anonymous is literally 12 percent people who¡¯ve never killed anyone? Are we shitting me? Are we currently covering me in shit right now?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I almost killed someone. The guy who set me up. I figured I was already on the run and probably going to die running, so why not just give him the middle finger for the whole thing? Got a 38 special off the streets and just unloaded on his car when he pulled out of the driveway. Why not? Already fucked. His family has money. I don¡¯t. I missed, but he got the message, I think.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll take it. Everyone¡¯s killed except this guy, and the guy who eats women¡­and not even in the cool way, dude.¡± she squinted.

    ¡°They weren¡¯t complaining.¡± Snickered Rowan, sipping his bottled water from a highball glass. ¡°Oh lighten up everyone. I¡¯m the only one here who¡¯s technically done nothing wrong.¡± He casually defended as a lot of eyes stared silently at him, suggesting their disagreement.

    Mike sat on an old log outside the U-haul, the smell of smoke from the campfire masking the smell of human remains as he sat and waited patiently for the fire to die down. Footsteps approached. He lit a cigarette, and chased it with a swig of peppermint vodka. He slowly turned a little, staring at the shimmering knife stuck in the log a few feet away. He reached deep into his jacket and steadied his hand, as a shot fired, the quiet puff of sound followed by a grunt of pain, and a little smoke rolled from the hole in Mike¡¯s Jacket. He drew the gun and casually finished his cigarette.

    ¡°Hello Carl.¡± Mike said, still facing forward.

    ¡°Are you serious?¡± Carl grunted, holding his hand and looking down at the Uzi he was holding a moment ago, now dented and probably inoperable, his broken trigger finger throbbing as Mike drew Rachel outward, and turned, pointing it at Carl''s face.

    ¡°I thought we agreed, no kills under 200 yards.¡± Mike sighed with disappointment.

    ¡°Yea, well I¡­sort of planned to just drug you and then kill Nadja. We didn¡¯t have any agreement about her. She¡¯d just kill me if we did, agreement or not...lying bitch. How did you do that without even looking?¡±

    ¡°Reflection in the knife blade, I know this gun and how it aims without even looking. I just needed to know where to aim. Uzi¡­odd choice.¡±

    ¡°Yea, someone stole and trashed my Skorpion when I got dethroned, and I didn¡¯t have a good selection in my truck. They took the ones that weren¡¯t hidden, and I figured once they knew I escaped that I¡¯d go back to my place, so I¡¯m improvising. You gonna kill me?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°Not unless you make a move and make me kill you. I¡¯m still following the rules, Carl. So put the syringe on the bench and both Makarovs next to it, slowly."

    ¡°How did you know I was carrying them?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re predictable. You love that damn caliber for some reason, and I can see the shape of the holsters. I just guessed from there. You know I¡¯m almost disappointed in you. A hit squad? Then poison? After I let you live?¡±

    ¡°Let me live, yea right. You missed."

    ¡°Those were warning shots on your truck. I had you, but I wanted you alive, and now I got that gift. You¡¯re gonna help me kill mayor Sandlin.¡±

    ¡°Not that I don¡¯t want him dead too, but why do you even need my help?¡± Carl asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t plan to kill him in public, I want him alive to kill later.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s insane.¡± Carl sighed. "You¡¯re drunk and crazy. Killing a mayor is hard enough, taking one hostage is suicide.¡±

    ¡°Shooting him from a rooftop is too easy and simple. He¡¯s responsible for the death of 32 women, Carl. 32 that we know of. He¡¯s also assembled a team of serial killers worthy of death to do what he wants, and I¡¯ve taken them out already in the Safehouse Massacre. The man is a menace to society, and pure evil. I don¡¯t want him dead quick, I want him to suffer. Your hooligans probably can¡¯t kill him, let alone take him alive, and you¡¯ll get Tanner killed trying. That¡¯s unacceptable. So we need your help for a 3-man operation.¡± He said as Nadja stuck a pistol to his head and pat him down for weapons.

    ¡°Strip. To bare-ass." She sighed.

    "You heard her. I don¡¯t trust you to not be hiding something, a knife a derringer, I doubt it¡¯s UP your ass, but taped to a leg or tucked somewhere isn¡¯t beyond you.¡± He said as Carl reluctantly stripped down and shivered, Nadja plopped a chair down behind him and sat him down, ziptying his hands and ankles.

    ¡°You gonna torture me? That¡¯s not like you, Mike. You¡¯re not a torture guy, you have honor.¡± Carl nervously insisted.

    ¡°It¡¯s not torture, it¡¯s just insurance.¡± He said as Nadja awkwardly grabbed his balls and he felt a ziptie singing up just barely snug enough to be hard to remove. He looked down and noticed a blinking red light, and a wire leading to a battery she taped to his abdomen.

    ¡°The fuck is this?¡± he nervously asked, sweating and breathing heavily.

    ¡°Like I said, insurance. That¡¯s a small quantity of c4 and a detonator on your nuts. Not enough to kill you, but enough to change your religion. If you don¡¯t give your fullest cooperation, Nadja has permission to pop that little cap. Now, if you doubt I¡¯d do it myself, you know she¡¯d just love to for the fun of it. Get dressed. You work for me now. You want Tanner getting killed trying to pull a mission she¡¯s not ready for, or do you wanna probably get killed with us doing something crazy? Because those are the choices. If she gets hurt, I kill you. If you run, Nadja blows your nuts off, and then I kill you. If you tamper with that, you blow own your nuts off, and then I kill you. If you cooperate and do this right, you¡¯re probably going to get shot by security, but there¡¯s a chance you¡¯ll pull it off, and then the bomb comes off. There¡¯s no way out of this without risk, there¡¯s just multiple ways you can screw it up and die less of a man. Are you compliant?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m quite compliant, Mike. You got me listening and taking notes.¡± carl admitted.

    ¡°Good, then you won¡¯t be stupid enough to try and kill either of us because even if you did, and you somehow ran¡­"

    ¡°Yea, nuts get blown off, I got you. You don¡¯t hear me arguing¡±

    ¡°How many bug-out places do you have with supplies?¡± Mike asked. The moment he hesitated, Nadja gave him a light backhand to the crotch.

    ¡°Three! I got 3 trailers, aside from the main ones I live in, with the collection. I got a truck and some guns at each one.¡± carl said in a higher pitch.

    ¡°Still glad you decided to hunt me down and prove you¡¯re the big swinging dick in this territory?¡± he asked as Nadja chuckled.

    ¡°We just proved that theory false before he even got dressed.¡± she giggled.

    ¡°Ah, very funny. Joke around and torment Carl. I pissed you off, and I realize now I¡¯m really not the guy for the job. You got me, Mike. I¡¯m the runner-up by a wide margin. All hail the king, I''m stepping down to Duke.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re barely a jester, asshole. Tanner took you down like a bitch, and she¡¯s not ready for this job. She¡¯s twice the killer you are and still has a heart. I know every move you make before you finished making it, I know that your team and Tanner have no plan at all, making it up as they go, trying to impress me, and they¡¯re gonna get killed. I don¡¯t even want the man dead, I want him in your position. Except you can get out of this position by cooperating and maybe even live unscathed and wiser, and when mayor Sandlin ends up in that chair, his hell is just starting, and there¡¯s no way out. So consider yourself very lucky I can use you, rather than just killing you for being a pain in my ass.¡± Mike explained as Nadja leaned dangerously close.

    ¡°I still would like to torture and kill you, but I promised Mike I wouldn¡¯t.¡± Nadja hissed in his ear.

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s comforting. She actually listens to you? Kinda seemed like the other way around.¡± He huffed.

    ¡°Nadja woke up something in me. Something that doesn¡¯t follow orders. It gives them. She finds that attractive, and she would rather torture a mayor than you, and I would be willing to forgive your backstabbing if this goes to plan. Of course if it doesn¡¯t and anything goes wrong, if Tanner gets hurt, or you just fail¡­either you die trying or Nadja gets to play with you. She doesn¡¯t even play nice with people she likes, trust me on that. She leaves marks from foreplay. Let¡¯s go for a ride to one of those bug-out spots you have. Which one is closest to a gun store with a really good selection?¡± Mike Grinned.

 Chapter 18: The Plan

    Tanner sighed and shook her head as the team hovered around the big screen and the blueprint of the courthouse.

    ¡°Okay, so this plan is complicated. Is there any way to simplify it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Probably not.¡± Yuri said as she gave him a look of disappointment. ¡°If it was easy, everyone would kill politicians. You don¡¯t just walk up to a very hated man on the street with 9mm and shoot him in the back. Nobody with enemies would be that stupid. This man is paranoid and crooked and was running a group of hitmen to do his work. This group. Old group but still. He has security teams, we don¡¯t know how many men. Some in street clothes and concealed carry, some in full security gear. No way to know. Metal detectors, frisk at the door, Alarms and guards on every exit. Courthouse windows are barred but regular glass. This is the best plan. Show of hands who here has planned and executed a hit with security detail?¡± he asked. Theo raised his hand. ¡°Describe security team.¡± Yuri ordered.

    ¡°About 20 years ago, I killed a guy with a bodyguard. Shot the bodyguard in the head, shot the guy in the head, walked away.¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡± Yuri said. ¡°No experience. Nadja likes to get close to her targets so she will be in the building, and anyone here in her way is mild annoyance at best, especially if you are unarmed, and she has smuggled in some plastic knife or made improvised weapon. She WON¡¯T be unarmed. We have already proven with range day yesterday, that most of you cannot hit shit in bucket past 150 meters. Snow and myself are the only competent riflemen. Snow has construction worker ID and vest, if he carries ladder around nobody will stop him or ask anything. They never question someone in a construction vest carrying ladder in this country.¡±

    ¡°And carrying a rifle?¡± Snow asked. "They gonna ignore that because of the vest?"

    ¡°Rife will be waiting. I can get rifle on the roof the night before. PVC pipe with screw caps, taped to air duct. You find it, wait for order. First you shoot window, hide gun and leave gun, go back down calmly with ladder. Return here. I will be at car dealership beside courthouse. Clear shot to where the Mayor will make his speech.¡±

    ¡°Then why am I risking my ass on a rooftop?¡± Snow asked.

    ¡°Have you ever shot through glass at an angle? Even regular glass deflects bullets. I cannot get flat shot at podium with glass in my way, you cannot get shot at podium at all. You shoot the glass out, and then I shoot the mayor through open window. Simple. Theo and Lincoln will wait across the street from exits, armed with machine pistols. If the mayor is not dead, then the mayor is moved, so open fire. Finish him off. You will not be needed. I take very good shots. You are as they say¡­backup dancers.¡± He explained. ¡°But Mike and Nadja may exit as well. Follow but do not engage. You will die.¡±

    ¡°So what do I do?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°Await good news?¡± he shrugged.

    ¡°Um, I¡¯m supposed to be the one impressing Mike with my progress and WHEN we run into Mike, he won¡¯t trust anyone else to help him. You follow, he¡¯ll lose you. And if you open fire, he¡¯ll kill you. I need to be there, Ideally making the mayor kill, but at the very least on the scene, so he knows who¡¯s on our team.¡± She insisted. "How do I get inside?"

    ¡°I can get us in. You¡¯ll be my date.¡± Said Rowan calmly, still drinking water from a glass with the bottle in his coat pocket. ¡°My family has money. I took out a fair bit before they flagged me on the run, I can bribe someone to let us in. However, if anyone has a suggestion as to how we may get weapons inside, feel free to speak up. The money will get us inside, but after a pat down and check. I¡¯m not a spy despite my charm, the knives I use aren¡¯t smuggled into anywhere. They stay at home and won''t get past security. I¡¯m a universal key, not a fighter.¡±

    ¡°Ideas people?¡± Tanner shrugged. ¡°Ink-pen gun, plastic derringer, switchblade that comes out of a shoe, anything anyone can think of that one of us could make in time? Prison shanks, zipguns, fucking¡­baseball bat. Anything. Neither of us stand a chance against Nadja unarmed. We probably don¡¯t... fully armed.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Alexander grinned, tapping his sword cane on the table.

    ¡°Yes, brilliant, that won¡¯t set of the wands, a 2-foot steel sword with brass end caps.¡± Rowan scoffed.

    ¡°I did not specifically imply this one. You¡¯re not getting my lucky strike, even if it would get past security, which it shall not. I make my own blades and canes. I don¡¯t trust store-bought ones, and everyone recognizes it as a sword cane. I have another cane in my garage made of timber, with a 17-inch steel blade inside. Admittedly, a cheap pawn store grab, but comes apart easily. I have yet to replace it with anything custom and worthy. I shall simply swap the steel with something else nonmetallic, fiberglass, wood. I believe if one would get that sharp enough, it may not hold an edge long, but it would murder before dulling completely. I have actually dabbled with the idea myself. I¡¯ll work something up in my garage. You just practice your limping, fancy-shoes.¡± Alexander said slyly.

    ¡°What about me?¡± Caleb asked. "I wanna help if I can. I''n not a killer, but I''m willing to help."

    ¡°I know Mike. He¡¯s got an entrance and an exit plan. You and Alexander wait around the main roads, if you see Mike making his escape, dose him. I got a bunch of Carl¡¯s knockout shit, I assume someone can make a blowgun that spits these out?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Actually yea.¡± Caleb nodded. ¡°When I was a kid, didn¡¯t have much supervision or anything to do, so I used to get air guns from the pawn shops and modify them. I can make a dart gun. Easy.¡±

    ¡°Impressive. You and Alex are the gadget guys. See, we can do anything they can, together. It¡¯s not like they¡¯re gonna walk in with Uzis past a metal detector, they¡¯re gonna have something like this, plastic shivs, knockout stuff, blowguns, something basic. We got 9 people, they got 2. We can beat them to it, take down Nadja in the process, and get my Mike back. Once we get her Russian titty hypnosis broken and prove we¡¯re professionals, Mike will get sobered up, lead the team. I know it. Prove it to him. Make us both proud. Let¡¯s get to work! LET¡¯S DO THIS!¡± Tanner yelled.

    Carl carefully sat down, slowly, at the work table of his bug-out bunker. Mike and Nadja sat down after, all looking tired and hungry.

    "So I assume everyone had fun shopping?¡± Mike asked, Nadja smiling and nodding with a subtle ¡°da¡± as Carl glared angrily.

    ¡°Sure did. I love shopping for guns and ammo with a bomb on my nutsack.¡± Carl barked.

    ¡°Did you get everything?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Yea I did. You realize how many guns stores I had to go to find those damn folding Glock 23s? They¡¯re not cheap either, even with my gun guy. I also got the tricked out slides and barrels, 5 of the all plastic magazines, and one box of 25 Hornady Critical Duty 9mm+P 135grain ammo. Like you very specifically emphasized.¡±

    ¡°Good doggy. Nadja, how was your shopping?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Difficult but successful. I had to call favors to get it, but I got most and the rest will arrive tomorrow here VIP delivery. Costumes, very specific wheelchair, knee brace, and Office chair.¡± She smiled. Carl looked confused.

    "Since I¡¯m clearly participating in this circus, can I at least know what the hell you¡¯re doing?¡± Carl snipped.

    "As you already know, 3 days from now there is a public meeting to discuss actions and new laws regarding school shootings. I¡¯ve managed to pull some connections and get us fake IDs to attend. So getting in the building and within 40 feet of the mayor is easy. The tricky part is getting weapons in and getting out alive, WITH the mayor hostage. Carl, you will be the in the wheelchair in a double layered fat-suit.¡±

    ¡°Just for insult?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, there¡¯s a reason, and I can¡¯t trust you to push the chair with me in it. I¡¯m going to modify the wheelchair and the Glocks, the folding models modded to disassemble completely and fit in the arm rests. I¡¯m designing new wheelchair push handles that lock to the pistol frame and act as foregrips and suppressors, and I¡¯m making full auto switches for them both.¡± He said, laying out his paper sketch. That¡¯s a pair of submachine guns with 4 24 round magazines in 9mm. One magazine each tungsten subsonic, and one armor piercing. The ammo should fit in clusters of 3 and stack vertically in the wheelchair tubing. So I wheel you in, they check the chair because you can¡¯t get out of it, and the chair won¡¯t pass a metal detector. They¡¯ll do a pat down and see nothing wrong with the chair, meanwhile I¡¯ll be unarmed and clean to go through and retrieve you. We¡¯ll all be in full costume. Double layered for a quick wardrobe change." Mike explained. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "I love his plans" Nadja said, presenting her purse.

    "Nadja will check in her purse, which has a hard bottom frame containing the plastic magazines with the springs removed. She¡¯ll dump the contents, and it will pass through, and she will let them know she has a knee brace, the magazine springs go in her knee brace, which they¡¯ll wand and pat her down. She¡¯ll go through and assemble them in the bathroom. After that, we¡¯ll all meet in the bathroom, lock and load. Appendix carry until the time is right. I¡¯ll excuse myself early and hang around the back exit, Carl will have to take his insulin, which is of course actually your lovely knockout cocktail we¡¯re saving for the mayor. Nadja will open fire, driving them towards the back, we¡¯ll take out the security from both ends, and dose the mayor, get him in the fat suit and the chair. Fake blood packet to the abdomen. Everyone does a wardrobe change, we all walk out looking like different people, while what¡¯s left of security frantically looks for the mayor everywhere except inside the wounded wheelchair fat-man. I have an acquaintance who will be waiting with an ambulance outside. Sirens turn on, we drive right past the police and once we hit city limits, light go off.

    ¡°I love the part where I don¡¯t get a gun.¡± Carl said.

    ¡°If you can fit one up your ass, be my guest, because I haven¡¯t exactly perfected the all-polymer revolver yet, and the chair barely fits 2 custom deconstructed Glocks."

    Alexander and Caleb stood at the workbenches in Alex¡¯s basement, Tanner watching the progress. Caleb mixed some JB weld on a paper plate and carefully applied it to the plastic pipe.

    ¡°That¡¯s very interesting.¡± She nodded.

    ¡°It¡¯s really just a BB pistol and some PVC pipes. I hack-sawed the plastic down enough to expose the metal barrel a little bit. Drilled a snug fit hole in an end-cap and added about 3 inches of PVC water pipe. My dad owned trailers and did his own landlord repair work. I tinker with stuff. Basically, I¡¯m just making a bigger barrel that will fit a syringe that I¡¯ve cut and filed down the tabs off of. It¡¯s just glue and plastic, really. It¡¯s not gonna have any range or accuracy, but from about 10 feet I¡¯m sure it will stick in someone. The momentum should drive the plunger and I don¡¯t know how much of this stuff it takes to knock someone out, but even if it gets a little in, he should be woozy enough to wrestle into a car.¡±

    "May I say on record..." Alexander chimed in. "Perhaps young Caleb should NOT attempt to bag the meanest killer in the land, and instead simply... build the gadgets or drive the getaway car. Caleb has stolen a car, surely he can steer one?"

    ¡°You know.¡± Tanner squinted. ¡°You two remind me of him a little. I like that.¡± She squinted.

    ¡°Then perhaps you''ll simply adore this.¡± Alexander grinned. ¡°You seem to have a fetish for weapon designers. Get ready to fall in love with me.¡± he said, pulling the cloth dramatically.

    ¡°Not happening, Mister, Traveling circus conductor, we got a job to do. You wanna impress me, impress me with stabby things¡­not like that, don¡¯t you even smirk at that. The fucking weapons.¡± She sighed with annoyance.

    "Behold your buffet of cutlery. I admit, despite making a lot of fine blades and doing a bit of woodworking for the handles, I¡¯ve never made a wooden blade and there were some struggles involved. The sword cane, my lady. Finest white oak the internet has to offer with free shipping in under 24 hours.¡±

    ¡°Why is the edge kinda milky white and weird?¡±

    ¡°As it turns out, despite being very strong and hard, I have discovered that when ground to a fine cutting edge, white oak tends to¡­disappoint. It crumbles into fibers and shards, and in an act of brilliant desperation, I use a cyanoacrylate glue and some fine oak dust from sanding, and bonded the edge, now infused with plastic. Before you clap and become flush with glee, it cuts like shit.¡±

    ¡°Wow¡­ I¡¯m just so turned on right now, it¡¯s unreal and frightening. So you just didn¡¯t even bother trying to sharpen most of the sword cane, and I still don¡¯t know if 17 inches is a sword or a long knife.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°Try thinking of it more of a stabbing-only 8 inch knife, on a 9-inch handle extension. Even a true sword is 80 percent nothing, leading to the point that kills. The first 6 inches or so does the killing, and the rest just adds reach to that part. So it¡¯s a...dagger...that you can use slightly further back from your target.¡± he cringed.

    ¡°Boy, I hope they get more impressive down the row.¡± She cringed back.

    ¡°I provided options in a pinch and started with the least exciting but the only long option. This rather fillet-knife amalgam of pieces lacks range, but conceals better and stabs better. That¡¯s 3 pieces of Blood wood, laminated and plastic soaked as well. Far less splintery.¡±

    ¡°Why 3 pieces, isn''t that more likely to break?¡± she asked

    ¡°Yes, but my joinery is flawless, and I did not have a 9-inch piece of Bloodwood conveniently on hand. I had a 5 and a half inch piece. So I decided you would rather have a 5-inch blade and a comfortable sized handle, rather than a small handle and a 2-inch box cutter made of wood.¡±

    ¡°Fair.¡± She nodded.

    "Now, I did discover that Purple Heart makes a damn decent knife blade, as far as wood and plastic options go. Unfortunately, I had even less of that, so this is a 3-inch Purple Heart blade glued to a 4-inch oak handle. Now THIS, will separate flesh very nicely. Tighter grain, hard as hell, this is quite an attractive little killer. Befitting yourself, really. And finally the one you have been waiting for.¡± He said, removing the silk handkerchief like a magician. ¡°The Dragoness claw¡± he said, revealing a black punch dagger with a strangely purple crystal-like blade shimmering like a magical relic.

    ¡°What¡­in the hell?¡± she pondered.

    ¡°One piece of shaped polycarbonate plastic, that¡¯s bulletproof glass if you layer it with regular glass a few times. I had high hopes for this simply as a clear plastic stabber, but I found the edge dulling very quickly and sharpening it to be frustrating, the tip bent on impact. Utter disaster, and THEN!¡± he said, looking wild eyed and drunk. ¡°I had my epiphany. I laminated some of the Purple Heart veneer to the bottom side and beveled it to that direction. You now have the indestructibility of unbreakable polycarbonate, but with a Purple Heart edge honed like a razor. An Amethyst arrowhead from hell ready to be punched into flesh and taste blood¡­and the sheen of the clear glass made it too visible and easy to spot, so I painted the other side black. What looks like nothing more than a small triangle of purple wood from one side, blends easily into a black skirt, and is actually a throat slitting machine no metal detector can find, that would not even look like a knife until you bury it in someone.¡±

    ¡°Yea, they got more impressive as they went. Fancy pants Rowan can have the bullshit cane and the Bloodwood. I¡¯ll take the purple shanks. What¡¯s this sketch?¡±

    ¡°Ah, something to not concern with unless I reveal it at the last moment. I have a piece of very hard Ebony, that not only will make a deadly knife but a poetic thing of beauty¡­assuming I can find it at all. Expect nothing else, that way if your expectations are correct, I am not breaking my promises. Otherwise, life is a series of disappointing optimism and failure.¡± He grinned

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t expect miracles from people just because Mike seems to do them. Good work, both of you. Dart guns and sneaky stabby things. What more could a girl ask for?¡± She said leaving the basement to let them finish. Alexander broke from a smile to a look of worry.

    ¡°We need to find that Ebony, she¡¯s going to get killed with a few 3-inch blades and one jackass with a shitty cane spear. Damn last minute requests.¡±

    ¡°Really hope she doesn¡¯t die. Son of a bitch, that is cute.¡± Caleb sighed. ¡°Damn shame, she¡¯s in love already.¡±

    "You really wanna go after Mike with that little dart gun?¡± he asked Caleb.

    ¡°It¡¯s better than nothing. I gotta do my part. Make an impression.¡±

    ¡°You like her too. Kid, let me give some advice. Don¡¯t get your expectations too high, either. That girl is a natural killer, and she likes that in a man. If you stay back here and work the gadget angle like me, I may have some competition. Not much, but something. I have the charisma and the stabby things. However, if you get killed like ol Mikey in this mess, that pretty little thing just got very single and her options narrowed down. I would start looking a lot more desirable, if you were both dead. I only truly wish this of Mike, not you. Just make the dart guns and let me subdue the preacher. He¡¯s out of both of our class, but you¡¯re barely even in the playground, and I believe you got lost and ended up here in the killer''s club.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re on your own team instead of this one.¡± Caleb sighed.

    ¡°I believe in survival and teamwork. Sadly, this team does not work, and half of them won''t make it. Dying beats prison, but dead is dead. Even a killer ass means nothing if you die before getting it. Know your place, kid. The Preacher Mike is not leading us, even if he survives. He¡¯s gone, and she¡¯s in denial. Have you seen what this Nadja looks like?¡± he said, getting out his phone, as Caleb looked impressed.

    ¡°Lucky Mike. You gotta kill 80 people to get Rizz like that?¡±

    ¡°I...don''t even know what that mean. Mike is old and running on fumes and desperation, my friend. He¡¯s leaving that poor girl behind because he¡¯s planning to get himself killed. He may have no plan to get out. That demonic little blue haired cupcake is his plan-B bitch because he doesn¡¯t give a shit if he hurts her. She is meaningless last-stand pussy because dying alone is terrible, and bringing down Tanner with you is a sin even hell¡¯s preacher can¡¯t commit. She¡¯s already single, she just does not realize it yet. He¡¯s with the devil herself because he has nothing to lose going down in flames. So, you have two choices, young buck. Be the hero that rushes in, Mike will kill you when you get in his way OR, you can play the bitch card.¡± He said, dramatically flipping a playing card out of his pocket with the ace of spades on it. ¡°...And live to compete over her, when Mike is already dead. I look forward to the gentleman¡¯s game. A little humiliation is better for you than death, it¡¯s a life lesson you can cherish."

    ¡°You seem pretty sure of that, Alex.

    ¡°It''s Alexander. You haven¡¯t earned the abbreviation yet. Prepare for the worst, hope for the girl, and if you play smart, expect reality to land you alive and breathing to watch me win Tanners heart anyway. So don¡¯t get too attached. I¡¯m a killer with experience with the bladed edge, that another cutter can appreciate, and you¡¯re a kid with bad luck and darts.¡± Alexander sighed dramatically, consoling him with a pat on the back and a sad bow.

 Chapter 19: Hit or Miss

    A very nervous looking Elroy, Mohawk buzzed down under his hat, strolled with his yellow reflective vest and ladder to the stairwell to avoid people near the elevator. He opened the glass door and almost ran into someone who he assumed would ask questions, but just nodded and moved on, as if telling him to keep up the good work. He reached the 5<sup>th</sup> floor and the roof access, stepping out into the breeze and sunlight, heading to the corner rail where the pipe was taped. He unscrewed the lid and removed the rifle, a very old Mosin Nagant with a small 4 power scope on a welded rail he did himself. He racked the bolt back and forward, just barely turning it to keep it in place and safe, and moved to the door, wrapping the handle in the bike chain and locking it shut, he took position and got situated, padded gloves on the stone roof ledge to rest the wooden hardware.

    ¡°In position.¡± He said, propping his phone up and setting a timer before playing a movie to kill time, volume quiet.

    Yuri scaled the fire escape of the car dealership, huffing to himself at the visible barrel sticking out from the rooftop a hundred yards closer and up.

    ¡°Fucking idiot.¡± He muttered, opening the case for his SVD sniper rifle in matte black and keeping it low. He lifted his phone to his head. ¡°Yes Nadja. In position. I can see him.¡± He said lifting a handful of brown rifle casings¡± The first round will fire, all of the rest are just bullet and primer. It will malfunction. The first shot, that is the signal. Look for the window on the second floor. I am with you, redneck has no idea. He did not even check the gun after I left it. Dumb shit has the barrel sticking out and visible. I would worry about him being arrested if I was not planning his failure already. Yes, I can see his head. He will be fully visible when he goes to take the shot. All is correct. I will not fail you.¡± Yuri said, hanging up the phone.

    Nadja smiled and put her phone back in her pocket, turning to mike with blue eye contacts and blonde hair, makeup covering her tattoos. Mike looked back at her, a bushy red beard covering most of his face and a bald cap discreetly fit.

    ¡°We good?¡± he asked her.

    ¡°Da. Fox is in the hen house, as you say. You look ridiculous.¡± She jabbed.

    ¡°You still somehow look ravishing, but I would never call it an improvement, just convincing. Carl¡­you ready to go?¡± he asked as Carl struggled, now heavily made up in a fat suit and a sock in his mouth. ¡°Good to hear. Time for your medication.¡± Mike said giving him a dose of something and calming him down to the point of drooling, removing the gag and adjusting the oddly long wig. He gave him a sprits of something from a bottle, and Nadja hopped out of the car, heading to the entrance as Mike prepped the wheelchair.

    Young Lincoln sat in the coffee shop, watching the alley and keeping his coat in place over the Tech 9 nestled under his left arm. He peered across the room at Theo, reading the paper, leather jacket buttoned over his own Tech 9 as he nodded back discreetly.

    ¡°The coffee is ready... over.¡± He muttered.

    Tanner rolled her eyes at the shitty code line as she double-checked her wooden knives were secured under her phone case, and Rowan increased his limp as they rounded the entrance. The first open door was guarded by a single police officer.

    ¡°I.D. and pass.¡± He yawned.

    ¡°I.D. right here, good sir, but about that pass. I drove a long way here before realizing I bone-headedly forgot them at home. It¡¯s for a college course, I¡¯m sure we can make this right.¡± He suavely gleamed.

    ¡°This event requires a pass in advance.¡±

    ¡°Cash in advance, you said?¡± he said, faking the misheard reply and getting out his wallet. ¡°How much per person? It¡¯s quite necessary for our political exam.¡± He said flashing a lot of hundreds. The officer looked around and took the money, checking the IDs just in case.

    ¡°I.D. looks clean, proceed to the line near the metal detectors.¡± He nodded, moving them along. Tanner and Rowan discreetly moved along, and to the walk-through search.

    ¡°Any implants, medical or otherwise?¡± asked the next security guard.

    ¡°Um¡­¡± Tanner said, looking uncomfortable. ¡°I actually forgot about¡­¡± she sighed, stepping aside, discreetly patting her breasts as the distracted guard ran the wand slowly up and down, the wand beeping as it reached her piercings. She pulled her shirt tightly and raised her eyebrows.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he nodded. "That''s...fine." he said wanding the rest of her with no beeps and nodding uncomfortably along.

    ¡°Sorry.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°No you¡¯re fine.¡± He said, as Rowan finished dumping his wallet and keys in the x-ray tray and his shoes, before walking through with the cane without a noise. He re-shoed and the next guard handed back the cleared tray. They rejoined and turned to follow the arrows.

    ¡°That was an unexpected twist.¡± He smirked at her.

    ¡°It¡¯s the only twist of those you¡¯ll get, creepo. How¡¯s the leg?¡±

    ¡°Uncomfortable.¡± He said, as they branched off to the restrooms to un-tape their weapons and get them in a more desirable position.

    Caleb and Alex sat on some crates in the back alley, looking bored.

    ¡°Nervous?¡± Alex asked.

    ¡°Little bit.¡± Caleb sighed.

    ¡°It shows. Have a drink. Relax. Our part in this play is supposed to be drawing as little attention as possible, whereas you look like you¡¯re planning a grand heist and quite anxious about it. It¡¯s immeasurably simple. Our job is to do nothing. Merely exist, till the first shot is fired, load your dart gun and wait. That is likely your entire job. We are little more than a backup option, and in the event someone comes through that door, I highly suggest you keep doing nothing.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re supposed to dart Mike on sight unless he¡¯s with Nadja. Carry him to the car.¡± Caleb said, accepting the flask of peppermint schnapps.

    ¡°Listen closely. Do nothing. Nothing shall happen. If something happens, do nothing and SAY you tried and missed. This is not your fight. If I happen to get a clear shot at his back, I shall make the shot, sedate the preacher, and only then your job goes from nothing to helping me carry him. If I don¡¯t act, neither do you. Survival 101. Know your pay grade. Yours is quite low. If Mike is armed, simply let him walk and live to fight another day. Do not engage Nadja, under any scenario, even if she is hogtied and rolled out on a cart with an apple in her mouth. She will kill you somehow from that position.¡± He insisted.

    ¡°Fine, but if he¡¯s unarmed and alone, I¡¯m taking the shot. I¡¯m not letting him go, under orders to bag him." Caleb insisted.

    ¡°Your funeral. I¡¯m sure Tanner will be very impressed at the wake, and your chances of getting laid will go from zero to still zero but with death. I don¡¯t take her for a necrophile. Now Rowan, on the other hand...I would not comfortably make any wagers.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like chicken-shit talk to me. Maybe I¡¯ll do this alone and you can wait in the car. It¡¯s safer in there.¡± Caleb said, glaring with annoyance.

    ¡°As I have said, your funeral is your business.¡± Alex shrugged, checking his dart gun again to be sure it didn¡¯t break.

    Mike smiled, showing his fake pass and ID and Carl¡¯s as the security guard assessed how to approach him. They paused at the fat man in the chair, drooling and looking around.

    ¡°My brother, he¡¯s got a lot of problems, but he still follows the politics and wants to support.¡± Mike said in a gruff tone. ¡°He can¡¯t stand up for it anymore.¡±

    ¡°You mind if we check the chair?¡± asked the awkward guard.

    ¡°Not at all, just be careful not to break anything.¡± He said, as carls Eyes moved around, and he tried to talk. Only a soft moan came out. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Bob, they¡¯re just scanning you. You¡¯re fine. I should let you know about this, My pills and his insulin.¡± He said, handing them the pouch, stepping through the detector, clean and without a sound. They wheeled him around the side and inspected the needles.

    ¡°He¡¯s good. You be safe, elevator doors close fast.¡± The guard said, as he wheeled Carl along, pushing on the suppressor grips. Mike made his turn to the bathroom, where Nadja was filling her water bottle very slowly. She dropped her purse and Mike picked it up, pocketing the magazines and knee brace discreetly, as he smiled and said a polite ¡°here ya go miss.¡± And moved on the to the bathroom, to the far stall.

    ¡°Okay Carl. You did great. I always knew you could pull it off.¡± He said removing the grips of the chair and ripping the leather away, assembling the folding Glocks with their custom hinge pins. He used his teeth to rip the stitching from the knee brace and removed the 4 magazine springs. Mike unscrewed the handles of the wheelchair, removing a strip of tape containing the ammunition, as Carl sat paralyzed, watching him complete the weapons and send a silent text, the door opening as planned. He gave him a little more of the medication and unlocked the stall door, sliding the now fully assembled folded pistol to Nadja and tucking his own in his belt, wheeling Carl along by the other hand grips as if nothing was different. Nadja went far right and took her seat as Mike rolled Carl to an end spot on the far left to wait.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The room was silenced as a bald man with glasses and a slightly protruding belly took the podium, adjusting his mustache and clearing this throat.

    ¡°I would like to begin by addressing some rumors.¡± Said Mayor Sandlin, proudly standing tall with his navy-blue tailored jacket.

    Tanner discreetly texted: ¡°is the weather cloudy or clear?¡± and awaited a response. A moment later a text from Yuri saying ¡°partially cloudy¡±. She looked frustrated, not sure if that mean he had the shot or not. Yuri peered through the scope at the mayor, clearly in his sights through a 45 degree piece of glass, his finger off the trigger and calmly holding the gun as if there was no rush in the world. He tapped his phone.

    ¡°Elroy, is the new window delivered?¡± he asked cryptically.

    ¡°Window is delivered and in position, whenever you¡¯re ready to start, just let me know, and I¡¯ll go ahead a take-out the old one. Whenever you wanna go, boss.¡± He said dropping the bolt handle into firing position and lining up the window glass.

    ¡°I¡¯m on my way. There is traffic. I will let you know when I get there.¡± He replied. Waiting for Nadja¡¯s signal instead of giving the order. Mike got up silently, mid-speech, whispering apologies and rolling Carl down the open hall to the left of the main room. A man with an earpiece and black suit stood guarding the exit. He nodded and turned into the bathroom just before it, locking the door and wheeling Carl into the stall. He quickly began removing Carl''s disguise, Carl now eyes open and without the wig and rubber mask, revealing a shaved head and only his mustache remaining, dyed black. He kept some of the belly padding on as he chose the appropriate black shirt collar, taping it down and propping him up against the wall. He stepped outside the bathroom and carefully approached the security guard.

    ¡°Hey, can I get some help? My brother had a bit of an accident. It¡¯s pretty bad, and damned if I didn¡¯t forget his insulin with my wife. Can you make sure nobody goes in there till I can get something to clean up and bring his insulin?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yea.¡± He reluctantly nodded. ¡°Hurry up, I¡¯m not supposed to be guarding the bathroom, people may need it.¡± he explained.

    ¡°Thank you so much, I¡¯ll be back in a jiffy.¡± Mike nodded. Rushing down the hall as the guard moved his post about 20 feet closer, standing near the restroom doors, technically still blocking anyone from going down to the exit. Mike rounded the corner and locked eyes across the auditorium with Nadja, peering over her sunglasses and parted blonde wig. Mike texted the word ¡°GO¡± and waited to hit send, he got his fanny pack of syringes, selecting the black one and rushing down the hallway. The guard looked relieved as he pretended to fumble with the medical supplies.

    ¡°Can you get the door for me?¡± he asked as the guard nodded and opened the door, stepping just inside to hold it. Mike uncapped the needle and silently stabbed him in the neck, holding his mouth as he struggled for a brief moment and slid down the wall. He shut the door and locked it, giving Carl a shot marked with red tape His pupils dilated, and he began looking around the stall groggily.

    ¡°The fuck is¡­ where?¡± Carl muttered.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t risk your bad acting ruining the mission, so listen closely. Nadja is going to take you hostage, put a gun to your head, and you¡¯re gonna go with it because the gun is real, and she will actually kill you if you don¡¯t play along. That bomb under your nuts, still active. You want it removed, we¡¯ll remove it in the ambulance when we¡¯re all on our way out of here, alive. You do anything stupid, and you¡¯ll actually need the wheelchair.¡± Mike said, ¡°Now listen very carefully. When Nadja is done using you as a human shield, she¡¯s going to shove you aside and run. You run the opposite direction and straight to the exit where the ambulance will be waiting. Get in and sit down. That¡¯s your job, don¡¯t fuck it up. Wait here.¡± He said, removing his costume and undressing enough to swap to the security guard¡¯s outfit. Tucking the Beretta behind his belt and the machine pistol in front. He walked outside and slowed down as he sent the text. Nadja received it and sent her own text, getting up and making sure everyone saw her wide, padded ass move past them.

    Yuri tapped the phone and read the words "Bird nest" turning his sights on Elroy.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready to install the glass, Elroy. Remove the window.¡± He ordered. Elroy took a deep breath and fired, breaking the glass with a loud crack as the second shot struck him in the neck, folding him to the rooftop. He clutched the arterial bleeding wound and braced the wall as his life flashed before his eyes and Yuri retracted his rifle, grabbing the phone as he ran for the parked ambulance. Tanner lifted the phone, looking annoyed that he didn¡¯t text confirmation, as everyone began to panic and security moved to locate the shooter.

    ¡°Plan is compromised.¡± Yuri huffed. "I think security shot Elroy, I am evacuating position. Abort.¡± He said clearly.

    ¡°FUCK!¡± Tanner silently mouthed, discreetly drawing her blades and tucking them under her arms to hide them. Getting up as the buzz of the crowd began to grow towards chaos. 2 armed men moving the mayor left and away from the podium.

    ¡°Shots fire, we¡¯re moving the mayor.¡± One of them said in his earpiece.

    ¡°West side is clear, move to first floor exit.¡± Said Mike, still dressed as a security guard and both guns out. Tanner spotted Nadja near the hallway and made a run for it, Rowan following her as the crowd scattered. An undercover security guard drew a Beretta 9mm, aiming for Tanner to stop her, as Rowan drew his sword cane and ran the wooden blade through his neck, the gun firing into the crowd as he dropped, pulling the wooden shiv down and getting stuck. Rowan struggled to free it as Tanner rushed past, and another security guard got in her path. She slashed the wrist holding the gun, stabbing his neck with the punch dagger and trying to pry the gun loose as Rowan passed her and went for Nadja. She grabbed the incoming wooden blade and stepped out of the stabbing line. Grabbing his wrist to stop the smaller wooden dagger, and twisting his arm to jam the blade into his own shoulder, dropping him with a knee to the face and snapping the blade off. She delivered a stomp to the shin, crippling Rowan. She moved in with the crowd and hunkered down as Security failed to notice her and kept targeting Tanner. Nadja dropped into the row of folding seats, returning fire almost as they began firing.

    The two armed guards rushed the mayor down the hall and past Mike, as he pretended to guard the hall, turning and drawing the suppressed Glock, taking 2 rapid headshots and sending them to the floor, taking out the 2 hall cameras he spotted earlier, and pressing the gun to the mayor¡¯s head.

    ¡°Bathroom. NOW!¡± he ordered, as Mayor Sandlin obeyed and went in, Mike dragging the bodies by the wrist with the gun in his teeth. Locking the door and quickly pointing the gun. ¡°Put this on.¡± Mike ordered, handing him the fat suit and the wig.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, but time is crucial here. Your security team has been compromised, sir. Some of the guards are working for the wrong side. We need to get you out of here without them knowing it. I¡¯m part of the freelance security team, we anticipated there might be an attempt on your life. Anonymous tip. This is the backup plan. Get in the chair.¡± He said, turning discreetly and unloading the bullets from the Beretta mag and quickly reloading them backwards, magazine left slightly out. He took out a syringe of fake blood and spraying it on his costume as he went with it in a terrified manner.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± mayor Sandlin asked.

    ¡°Distraction. We don¡¯t know who¡¯s on our side and who¡¯s not.¡± Mike said hitting the earpiece. ¡°Mayor is secure, and we¡¯re moving east, I got a wounded civilian and an ambulance on the way, he¡¯s been shot pretty bad.¡± Mike said, slapping the mayor¡¯s hand on the fake blood. ¡°Hold that and pretend to be in pain, we¡¯re evacuating you out via ambulance. You¡¯re gonna be fine.¡± He assured, wheeling out the mayor and stopping carl with a look and a gun.

    ¡°Wait, Carl. Backup is arriving.¡± He winked, almost threatening him as he lifted and racked the Beretta, loading nothing and bumping the clip in place discreetly, tossing it to Carl as if it was just loaded and ready. He questioned nothing, taking the safety off.

    Mike wheeled the mayor out and turning the corner, tossed his security jacket and earpiece, down, donning a baseball cap and nodding his head down, so the other cameras couldn¡¯t see his face and his 3<sup>rd</sup> wardrobe change. He frantically rushed past the other pedestrians at the front exit, the front desk security assisting the wounded man and Mike passed the others, as priority, as a medic met them at the door and guided them along.

    They got to the back of the ambulance and Mike drew the Glock, taking 3 rapid shots.

    ¡°Wrong ambulance, sir. EMT¡¯s don¡¯t carry Uzis.¡± Mike lied as he rushed the mayor around the back.

    Nadja ran for the hallway and stopped, turning and firing a shot into Tanner¡¯s chest as she landed back first on the carpet, dazed.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky Mike loves you, or that would have been your head.¡± Nadja hissed, tapping her forehead with the barrel. ¡°Get in my way again, and I¡¯ll make an exception and lie to him.¡± She said, as Tanner crawled to her feet and fell back towards the auditorium, noticing Rowan on the ground. She grabbed him up as he let out a grunt.

    ¡°Oh, save it for later, pussy, it¡¯s a shoulder wound.¡± She huffed as he moved on his own power.

    ¡°Thank you for the vests. They clearly helped stop a wooden sword to the arm.¡± He sarcastically groaned. "I think my leg might be broken."

    ¡°Bitch, I got shot in the vest. They clearly came in handy!¡± She barked as another gunshot sounded and struck him in the back, sending him reeling as they crashed through the side door. ¡°See? Glad you had it now?¡± she said snidely. Heading to the alley, half-carrying him like a spare leg.

    Nadja opened the bathroom door and waved Carl along, taking him at gunpoint as he hid the Beretta in his mayor¡¯s jacket, now looking a lot like Mayor Sandlin if you squinted a little. She wrapped her arm around his face to hide any giveaways and charged out of the bathroom, a security Beretta at his chest and the Glock pointed forward in full auto. She moved down the auditorium, the guards aiming and afraid to take the shot with the mayor as a human shield. She sprayed down 3 of them, all trying to get a clear shot, and one remaining, ducking for cover. She kicked open the emergency exit and pushed Carl away, splitting off and firing a round over his head. He turned and clicked the gun, realizing it wasn¡¯t chambered, and racking it, jamming the slide with a backwards 9mm round and frantically trying to eject it, running like hell down the alley as the remaining security followed him to cover the mayor, they didnt realize was a decoy. Nadja turned the street and a few rounds struck the brick wall beside her. She pulled the Glock, spraying full auto fire into the coffee shop and killing 4 random people, Theo and Lincoln, as well, hopping into the ambulance that rolled up next to her and then circled the block. She got in and reloaded as Yuri gave a thumb¡¯s up and she nodded.

    ¡°Good terms now?¡± he asked.

    ¡°If you get Michal and the mayor alive, you just became my favorite bodyguard.¡± She smirked.

    Mike rounded the corner alley, casually putting a round into Carl¡¯s knee and dropping him, kicking the gun away and moving on as Alexander and Caleb stepped from behind 2 dumpsters and Caleb drew his dart gun, immediately getting his brains splattered by a well-placed shot from Mike. Alexander dropped the dart gun and backed away, hands up as if to say ¡°don¡¯t shoot.¡± And another shot rang out. Alexander hit the brick and dropped to the pavement as the ambulance stopped and dropped the loading ramp.  Mike wheeled the real mayor in, and the ambulance took off, sirens going and building up speed. Mike removed his disguise and looked to the front, Nadja in the driver¡¯s seat and grinning.

    ¡°We good?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Da, we are good.¡± she replied, flooring it, as the Mayor sighed with relief, oblivious to the fact that he was better off dead than here.

 Chapter 20: Running Red

    The Mayor breathed easy, looking around the ambulance at his two saviors, Mike and Nadja, still dazed and heart racing.

    ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough. I don¡¯t know what just happened, but I thought I was a dead man.¡± He chuckled, nervously.

    ¡°Oh you are.¡± Mike assured. ¡°Just not quite yet.¡± Mike said, suddenly stabbing his neck with a syringe, and giving him a dose of tranquilizer.

    Tanner and Rowan ran down the same alley, as a black car slid to a stop behind them and the window rolled down. Yuri stuck his buzzed head out of the driver¡¯s seat.

    ¡°Get in.¡± he said, as they did without hesitation. Suddenly the passenger door opened, Yuri¡¯s loaded Russian 9mm extending out at Alexander¡¯s face, bloody and missing his sunglasses.

    ¡°It¡¯s me, you impaired troglodyte! Drive. Move.¡± Alex barked.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Caleb?¡± asked Tanner.

    ¡°He¡¯s dead, drive.¡± Alex encouraged frantically, checking his face in the flip-down mirror, and carefully picking out a piece of glass from his eyebrow.

    ¡°Fuck, everything!¡± Tanner yelled, ¡°Get Lincoln and Theo.¡± She huffed.

    ¡°Dead. This is whole team left.¡± Yuri casually sighed.

    ¡°Are you shitting me? What happened?¡± Tanner yelled.

    ¡°Nadja mowed them down like dogs. She does not leave survivors. I don¡¯t know who killed Elroy. Perhaps Carl knew the plan and took him out, or mayor security snipers. I had clear shot. He fired, the mayor moved. I hear second shot and check. Elroy is dead, slumped over rooftop, so I evacuated and headed for getaway car. I get there, Nadja is filling the coffee shop with bullets, and I stopped for my gun, she was gone. I don¡¯t know what happened.¡± he lied

    ¡°Is the mayor dead at least?¡± Tanner asked, almost in tears.

    ¡°Unfortunately no.¡± Alexander huffed. ¡°I think your wondrous Mikey smuggled him out in a wheelchair as a hostage. He shot Caleb before he could dart him, and before I could retaliate, he shot me as well. I was fortunate. His bullet, intended for death, merely clipped sunglasses. I felt pain and something strike my face, so naturally I dropped. I assumed I was dead. When I realized I got very fortunate, I saw an ambulance driving away. I¡¯m relatively sure Mike took the Mayor alive, and scurried away. Your friend is gone, Tanner. He executed one of his own men, maybe that was Carl double-crossing us and then getting double-crossed. He didn¡¯t hesitate to kill Caleb or even blink. He¡¯s a mindless machine of death.¡±

    ¡°NO!¡± She yelled. ¡°Mike must have acted in self-defense. He¡­probably thought Caleb drew a real gun, Carl was dangerous. Fuck Carl. Mike wouldn¡¯t just kill random people unless he thought you were going to kill him.¡± She screamed in denial.

    ¡°Tanner darling, I dropped my gun, hands up, surrender style. I wasn¡¯t a threat, he just shot for the head anyway. He didn¡¯t just kill Carl, he kneecapped him and left him to die. It was quite personal. He¡¯s taking the mayor alive, for some reason. Whatever he¡¯s doing, Holy man Mike was an illusion from the start, or he is simply dead, and Hitman Mike is the monster left over. I don¡¯t know if Nadja turned him or if he was always evil, but I looked in the face of evil, and he pulled the trigger on me. There¡¯s no Holyman Mike.¡± Alexander assured.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that.¡± Tanner sniffled. ¡°I can¡¯t believe that. He¡¯s lost in there, in need of saving. Nadja will kill Mike when she¡¯s done with him.¡±

    ¡°She already did.¡± Sighed Yuri. ¡°Wake up little girl. Nadja is the devil. She brings out the worst in you. There is no going back. Men like Mike do not kill like that if there is good left in them. She was not there giving orders, she was busy slaughtering people in the coffee shop, who knows how many. Mike is a killer, a monster like her. He just didn¡¯t know it till he met her. She does this to men. If there is evil in them, she makes it stronger and kills the rest. They do not go back. If you refuse to let go of that, you just end up like me. Tossed to the street. I was not heartless enough for her, not lethal enough. She found her replacement monster. You should have funeral and move on.¡± He informed.

    Tanner sat silently at the clubhouse, the old drafty church walls feeling colder than usual, as she watched the news on low volume. Blurry pictures of her and Rowan plastered the screen, as well as a very unclear picture of a blonde with a padded up ass and sunglasses, no visible tattoos. Nothing to connect her to Nadja or any description. For a split second, there was a frame of her eyes as she tilted down, a strange orange tint to them.

    ¡°Police reports are baffled by today''s terrorist attack and failed assassination on Mayor Sandlin, who is recovering from minor injuries at an undisclosed hospital.¡± Said the new reporter, looking professionally sympathetic. ¡°At least 3 identified gang members may be on the run, 4 of them found dead around the area armed with assault weapons and sniper rifles. Ten civilians and 18 security officers were killed, 8 injured, and nobody is yet sure who planned the attack. Mayor Sandlin has apparently sent a message from the recovery room calling for stricter gun control laws and even a total weapons ban in the city limits. More on that to be expected.¡±

    ¡°Terrorist attack.¡± Tanner sighed. ¡°So we¡¯re terrorists now, and Nadja doesn¡¯t even look like herself on the fucking security feeds. What is the deal with her eyes? Why the hell did they take the mayor alive? They don¡¯t need a ransom. Why get killed over it?¡± she puzzled as Rowan made his way to the couch, bandaged up and playing up his injuries.

    ¡°I should take a look at your injuries as well.¡± He muttered to Tanner.

    ¡°No chance. It¡¯s a few bruises, I don¡¯t need your creepy hands poking under my shirt, thanks. How can the news be so much bullshit and no answers, and turn this into some political move? The man was buying women to abuse and have killed for fun, where is that part of the news? He¡¯s the worst politician on that level of power, and they¡¯re saying he¡¯s fine and acting like he¡¯s some victim of the bad guys. HE IS the bad guys, NADJA is the bad guy! Why do none of the evilest people ever get blamed for anything, and we¡¯re trying to help and get called terrorists!? We didn¡¯t even have guns in the courthouse! Did you guys shoot and murder civilians, because I sure didn¡¯t, and I don¡¯t remember us planning that or pulling assault weapons out of our asses. I killed one guy in self-defense, and he was a personal bodyguard to one of the most horrible monsters in the building. Did any of you guys kill ten random innocent people? FUCK, how did we dick this up so badly? How did we fail the mission, let Nadja and the mayor live, not bring back Mike, and get blamed for 10 dead people we didn''t shoot and however many security guards were hired for this event and didn¡¯t even work for the mayor directly? How did everything go so wrong?¡± she asked, slumping over.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°Nadja went wrong.¡± Alexander said, placing down a laptop and opening it. ¡°Nadja went wrong, then made sure Mike went wrong, and then they just fabricated devastation and left us holding the bag. You think Mike¡¯s still in there? Take a look at what¡¯s circulating the web like a viral trend.¡± He said hitting play.

    Mike pressed record on the webcam, stepping back in a black ski mask with a cross on it, and hood, as Nadja stood in the background, mask and hood as well, candles lit in a circle like a summoning of some kind and the mayor stripped naked on a wooden cross, nailed up to it.

    ¡°Listen closely people. You have sinned and you have denied forgiveness. You have supported men like this, elected evil and turned away when they preyed on the weak.¡± He said in a muffled and haunting tone. ¡°This man, abused and killed a dozen women.¡± He said, holding up photos of his victims and pinning them to the mayor as he moaned through the tape on his mouth. ¡°And the police did nothing, because the police only care who pays them the most. Your leaders have failed you, your law enforcement enforces what they want to enforce and leaves you to be victims. A day of righteous cleansing is here. An awakening. If darkness and blood is power, then take that back and use it. All of you. Rise up, kill your gods and your masters and take what should be yours. Your cities, your taxes, your weapons. Take it all back. Those of you too weak to stand and fight will only die like lambs led to slaughter by those in power. Those of you ready to shed blood, sharpen your tools. This will be an age of blood and hellfire. This is a time to ride the horses of the apocalypse into the streets, with death and hell following you. Choose your marks and paint the streets with their blood. Let the city burn, let it run red. But before you send them to their graves.¡± He sighed viciously, drunk with madness and power, leaning closer to the camera and pull-starting the chainsaw. ¡°Tell them Mister Black sent you.¡± He said as the video paused.

    Tanner sat back and choked down her tears to stay calm, streaming what she couldn¡¯t suppress down her face like little waterfalls of eye shadow, as she shut the laptop.

    ¡°It only becomes worse from there.¡± Alexander sighed. ¡°It¡¯s 17 minutes of Mike and Nadja shaving off slices of the mayor from fingertips and toes to a stump. There¡¯s no more message, just carnage.¡± He said, ¡°Even I found it difficult to finish.¡±

    ¡°How hypocritical.¡± Rowan said calmly.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Alexander asked, looking offended.

    ¡°We¡¯ve all cut up a body or two, the man deserved it. Why are we acting like he did anything wrong here?¡± he scoffed with a chuckle.

    ¡°Because that¡¯s not MIKE!¡± Tanner screamed, flipping the table. ¡°That¡¯s not the Mike I knew. He was the one telling me to control and keep my vicious inner demon in check, and now he¡¯s just an inner demon calling people to start a war. The mayor is one thing, some of the crooked cops on payroll deserve it, but you can¡¯t just give an order to go slaughter people at will. Some of the cops are just doing their job, some of the leaders could be helping things, they¡¯re not all evil, his whole¡­¡± she sniffled, trying to stay calm and not break into incoherent tears. ¡°His whole teaching was to never take a life without knowing it was necessary. A lot of people died today, some of us, killed by Mike, and he¡¯s there celebrating it, hacking up his prey with HER like she¡¯s his partner in crime. Bonnie and Clyde, Not Mike and Tanner. Not cleaning up the worst, just calling for chaos. People are gonna die, a lot of them who don¡¯t need to. That¡¯s not Mike, Mike would never do that!¡± she said, blowing snot and tears into a Kleenex to breathe.

    ¡°Darling¡­it¡¯s him.¡± Alexander said calmly.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s¡­Mike¡¯s body. But the man who saved me and took me in was real, and this wasn¡¯t in him.¡± She said thinking about the notes and journals. ¡°It wasn¡¯t awake yet I guess. I know that man in the video is Mike. I realize that. But he wasn¡¯t a monster till he met Nadja. He was a good man. But you¡¯re right.¡± She said, gathering her thoughts and swallowing harshly. ¡°He¡¯s gone now. My Mike¡¯s gone, and she killed him. Whatever she put in to fill the gaps isn¡¯t something we can save. He knew that. All along he knew that. He predicted it, he passed everything to me, and told me to do my job and lead the team, kill the monsters. And he knew he''d be one of them some day.¡± She said, standing up and stomping to her backpack and grabbing her SMG.

    ¡°Whoa, slow down.¡± Alexander said, lightly touching her shoulders and calming her. ¡°This is not something to gallop valiantly into. This is something to consider and plan, and prepare for. We do not have the firepower, nor the team, nor the preparations to do anything tonight except something stupid that accomplishes nil. Please just put the gun down.¡± He begged her.

    ¡°Whatever the Hell Mister Black is¡­¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t kill him. But someone needs to. And that fucking snake that killed my Mikey needs to die too. That belongs to me. You¡¯re right, we¡¯re not ready. We don¡¯t have guns or connections or money¡­¡±

    ¡°I can get this.¡± Yuri sighed, opening a beer from the kitchen area, a silhouette behind the TV screen casually having a beverage with the utmost confidence. ¡°I said I can get this. You think Nadja has no enemies but you? You think I am the first bodyguard she kicked to the street for failing her impossible expectations, and her spoiled rich little bitch wishes? She has enemies. They lack motivation and reason to risk their lives. I also have connections who would like her dead, with money. And money is a very good motivation and reason when you add it to revenge. This is an effective recipe, it just takes time to make it.¡± he shrugged.

    ¡°What if I can¡¯t wait?¡± Tanner asked coldly and oddly calm. "What if nobody can?"

    ¡°Then go get killed, she will gladly do it. I will become leader of the group, find another cute killer as mascot, and we drink to your memory. Choice is yours. I won¡¯t stop you. You won¡¯t get very far. It will be very sad.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°Shit.¡± She sighed. ¡°Kinda wish Carl was alive now, but he¡¯d just switch sides every ten minutes, and then we¡¯d have 3 problems some day. So what do we do in the meantime? While we¡¯re waiting to make connections and build a team and a plan, what do we do?¡± she asked Yuri.

    ¡°We just¡­remain.¡± Alexander said. ¡°It will be a storm of red and black, we cannot change that. We did not create that. We will not be among the dead that it brings. We learn to survive and lie low, as we have all done so many times. We survive, to fight another day. And then¡­we probably still die, but doing something glorious.¡± He grinned. ¡°Be part of that with us, but not tonight.¡± He said, rubbing her back and handing her a beer.

    ¡°I don¡¯t drink anymore.¡± She said, standing up. ¡°Unless I end up in a safehouse with Nadja bunch of guns and I know I¡¯m not coming back out. Then I¡¯ll take that offer.¡± She said, staggering off to go rest. Yuri retired to his room with some food and a 6 pack, business as usual. Rowan smirked and looked over at Alexander, who slowly glared back.

    ¡°A storm of red and black¡­how poetic and overly dramatic.¡± Rowan giggled.

    ¡°It calmed her down and cleared her head. My grand poetry is a distracting pleasantness.¡±

    ¡°Still. How very Alexander of you to make a speech for the dead, to impress a girl. She finds you annoying, you know? Speaking of clearing heads, how is that little cut on your brow? Did you do that little nick yourself, to impress her, instead of just saying you gave up and let him go? Or did he really miss your entire gigantic head? The monster that takes headshots from miles away manages to only graze you and let you live. Are you sure you didn¡¯t just hide behind the dumpster and wait till the monster was gone?¡± Rowan prodded.

    "Oh, do try and wiggle your way into my head and gaslight me. You think a cannibal who eats women is going to impress her, just because you got a bigger scar in that fight? Please. You¡¯re just the same monster as the Preacher but without any skills or teeth, or testicles. A vulture. I¡¯d rather be the lesser wolf beaten down by the bigger one who lived to circle back, than the scavenger that picks the bones of the dead for food¡­quite literally.¡± Alexander defended.

    ¡°May the gentleman''s games begin?¡± Rowan asked, sipping his glass of water.

    ¡°That¡¯s your problem, thinking it¡¯s all a game. May the HUNT begin.¡± Alexander corrected, making his leave and heading to the basement to plot and tinker.

    ¡°Well¡­it¡¯s no fun at all when you think of it that way.¡± Rowan smirked, sitting in the dark and silently listening to the sound of nothing, the blackness enveloping him and his highball glass of room temperature bottled water, sipping it like a fine wine and enjoying the serenity of nothing at all.

 Chapter 21: Miss Black

    The door of a hotel room opened as Mike and Nadja stepped through, still high from the kill and torture, as they tossed down their things and began removing clothing, as if casually getting off work and returning home for a planned romp in the sheets.

    They barely noticed the maid standing there, as Mike grabbed her by the arm and lead her out the open door with a light shove and a look of pure evil.

    ¡°Try again when there¡¯s something to clean up.¡± He growled, slamming the door and returning to his prey, Nadja.

    ¡°Well done, Mister Black.¡± Nadja said, pulling his belt away and tossing it, as he placed his knife and pistol on the stand beside the bed and sat down on the fitted sheets.

    ¡°I wish you¡¯d stop calling me that.¡± He objected. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten used to hearing you say Michael in that sexy little accent, but I¡¯m not Mister Black until I have to be.¡± He said, tossing her down and grabbing something from the travel bag, a roll of paracord and his pocket knife to cut it as needed. She smirked and bit her lip playfully, running her bare feet over the slippery sheets as he climbed over her, tying her wrists together and looping the cord over the bed rail.

    ¡°Perhaps he¡¯s needed right now.¡± She toyed.

    ¡°Oh you want Mister Black, instead of Mister Finn tonight?¡± he asked darkly. ¡°Well, I think I can arrange something.¡± He said looping the cord around one ankle and the other, yanking it tightly and stretching her into an X shape as he tied the ends tightly in several knots and cut away the excess binding, tossing it aside and climbing on top of her, brushing her hair back and pressing his lips to hers as she moaned lightly and squirmed. Her second moan slightly more intense, the third suddenly increasing in pitch as her eye opened wide and her light squirming abruptly turned to a tight pull on the cords, followed by a peppering of red across her face as he pulled away, his face covered in blood spatter as well. ¡°You wanted a killer¡­here he is. What... you didn¡¯t think I had it in me? You think I¡¯d be your political pawn and kill your enemies because you¡¯re a quality piece of ass, and you have me on a leash?¡± he asked, reaching down and yanking the knife from the left side of her throat with a sideways motion to open her neck to the bone. ¡°I played lapdog because I needed help killing a corrupt mayor and sending a message, and you¡¯re right. I¡¯m a monster that Tanner couldn¡¯t handle, and you proved today that she was not ready for the job you were practically made for. She will be some day, but I needed him dead now, and you were willing to follow.¡± He said as she gasped and struggled to speak, arterial spray covering the bed.

    ¡°Cold.¡± She silently mouthed, tears running down her face as she clenched her eyes shut.

    ¡°We both are, but if it¡¯s any comfort in your last moments, know that I did have feelings for you, and this was not easy for me, just necessary to save my soul.¡± He said, shedding a tear of his own. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss you in a strange way, but you are something I can¡¯t fight forever, and as I get older, and you burrow deeper into my head, my chances of doing this just get thinner. So it has to be done. I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯ll never be Tanner, but you really were perfect for a monster like me, and it¡¯s a fucking shame we couldn¡¯t ever trust each other to meet in the middle of a compromise, but you know damn well one of us would end up here, and acting quickly now that the work is done¡­was sadly just the smartest move. I have no real joy in watching you go.¡± He admitted.

    The struggling continued without a scream or moan as Mike calmly sat up, straddling her and wiping the blood from his forehead with a hand holding the red saturated knife. He coldly sighed as his other hand still lightly cupped her neck, keeping the arterial spray confined to the bed, as Nadja bled out, and her struggling calmed down. Mike rolled out of the bed, wiping his blood soaked hand and dropping the knife as he walked to the bathroom to clean up. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself, letting go and crying silently, feeling a strange loss like part of him was missing, remembering Gwen and seeing her dead body in his living room. Something in him felt the hate that he adopted that moment, now leaving his body like a weight lifted, but somehow leaving a hollow space where that hate had been living so long. It was cold, void-like and pulling on his ribs like an exhalation he couldn¡¯t get out. He punched the mirror, killing the image of himself he couldn¡¯t bare to look at, and let the crying simmer down to a calm breathing, the sound of footsteps behind him grabbing his attention as he paused to remember if in the heat of the moment, he remembered to lock the door. The vague image in the dark of a maid¡¯s outfit passed behind him as he shook his head, expecting either a scream and a sudden need to run from sirens, or a gunshot to the back if the maid was just another assassin tracking him down and waiting for a moment to strike when he was alone and vulnerable.

    Suddenly hands grabbed his shoulders and the maid leaned in close, almost seductively, nails raking over his skin as a familiar accent whispered in his ear, Russian, subtle lisp, slight serpentine hiss to the sharpened S in the last word.

    ¡°You really think you can kill me that easssily.¡± Said the maid, the same unmistakable tone and cocky darkness. ¡°You can kill flesh and blood, but you can¡¯t kill what I am.¡± She finished as Mike stared down at the bloody sink.

    ¡°You¡¯re dead.¡± He said, turning, as the hotel maid ran her claws down his chest the way Nadja did, pinning him. He blinked, head spinning as he saw both Nadja and the maid''s face at the same time, unable to clarify one or the other. ¡°I cut your throat, nearly removed your head, and watched you die.¡±

    ¡°Da, you watched Nadja Die. The body. You really think you were defeated and turned evil by just some little Russian girl? Just someone your type, a chosen killer, attractive, exotic. She let me in much easier than you did, Michael.¡± The maid said, even using her mannerisms.

    ¡°Who are you? WHAT are you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m everyone, anyone, and very briefly, I was your favorite kill. You were right about one thing, Mister Finn, I wanted you and couldn¡¯t have you. You¡¯re just too strong, always resisting me. You will never just slip away and become Mister Black forever, Mike Finn will always keep clawing back to the surface and out of the bottle. So, we will play this game a little differently.¡± She said, raising the knife to her own throat as he grabbed it, not sure if he was about to kill her again or stop her, still unsure if it was the maid or Nadja''s face. "Kill me, Mister Finn, I¡¯ll just come back. You can¡¯t kill me forever. Or maybe I¡¯ll just come back as Tanner, a form you can¡¯t kill, and take up permanent resident in that pretty little form. She does make such a good little killer, but her faith is so weak. I could just go kill her now, and what could you do? Kill me again. I only have to kill her once.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°What do you want¡­devil. Me? Fine. A trade for Tanner, you get my soul. Let the maid go and take me, for Tanner''s life.¡± he said, dead inside already.

    ¡°You¡¯ll just change your mind and fight me later, as always, your soul is too stubborn. We have done this before. You¡¯ll never be obedient unless I target your heart, Michael. The maid is innocent; you would never accept a weak body like this anyway, knowing she was being forced by my hand. That is not like you. You like your prey to be another predator with teeth, willing to fight. So let me force YOUR hand, and not to my throat.¡±

    ¡°I told you that you could have my soul, my body, what else could you want?¡±

    ¡°Your allegiance. I will have you in some manner, like I have before, willing, lusting for it. A willing host is so much stronger, Michael, and a willing Michael is stronger than anything. Even now as this innocent maid, you struggle to release me. She would make a poor killer and a poor lover. I want your heart, your loyalty, and your love. But you started something, when you declared war. A revolution. Just like I wanted. Except now, you¡¯ll truly know who I am and how powerful I can be, and not to be fucked with. Do I have your attention, now, Michael? Do you finally see the beast you made love to and couldn¡¯t keep resisting, that you know even death can''t separate?¡± she hissed.

    ¡°I do. I couldn¡¯t resist Nadja because she¡¯s the same kind of demon who¡¯s been with me since my wife died. You just found something better looking than a bottle to tempt me with.¡± He breathed sharply.

    ¡°I AM temptation, a beast of a different caliber. That voice in you when you stopped listening to the voice of God¡­¡± she chuckled, ¡°A God nothing more than your own conscience, struggling to keep you in control, instead of me. I am the temptation to kill, when you knew it was wrong. I am the whisper of the question: what if you just kept shooting everyone? I am the same thing who took over that night when you left Michael Finn in the parking lot with your imaginary god and an empty bottle, and gave in to Mister Black, because believing Tanner was dead, you had nothing left to fight for except vengeance. I am that vengeance, Michael. I am you. Except I stopped fighting my demon and became it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just someone else''s Mister Black, free and stronger.¡±

    ¡°Nyet, Michael. Free, but not stronger. I had you, and you fought me away for Tanner. Someone Mister Black could hurt, or break, an ill-fitting dream that you could rid of it, if you truly loved her. Now here you are protecting her from yourself and me. You can¡¯t wear me down or scare me away, I¡¯m your own personal devil. I gave you power, I gave you freedom, you confined it, I gave you the perfect woman, and you slit her throat. Now you understand what a mistake that was. Such a perfect little host to love and hate, and you thought a knife would set you free. It only delayed me, and if that body is not enough, I can be anyone you want.¡± She sighed. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, Mike. I¡¯ll be back soon, just like Mister Black, aggressive as ever." she whispered, Now looking more maid than Nadja, blurry, with orange eyes in the dark.

    ¡°When you can¡¯t fight the soul, you fight the heart¡± he sighed. Feeling defeated.

    ¡°You¡¯re only human. I¡¯ve seen your soul. It¡¯s resistant but imperfect. I saw that lust in your eyes when you slit my throat, so many more options. You like to kill your lovers? I can arrange this. Nadja, something brand new you always wanted, perhaps. Whatever you want. Whatever form suits your desire. When you get bored with her, kill her. I''ll come back, find another temptation you hide. I¡¯ll get another, and another. Don¡¯t you get it, Michael¡­you can¡¯t escape me because deep down you know I¡¯m perfect for you.¡± She said, biting his ear playfully, drawing blood and licking her lips clean. ¡°And I¡¯m never leaving you anyway. So do you still want to resist me, resist temptation itself, miserable and alone and one day become so lonely that you return to Tanner and ruin her life? Kill her in confused passion, or get her killed in some fight she cannot handle? Or will you obey me completely and let me spoil you, let me feed you what you really want, flesh, disposable to play with, and we can finish the mission together, and Tanner will just¡­live on without you and slowly heal, stronger. Maybe happy even, maybe doing your old job as hero for God, HER God, her inner conscience. You know what I want from you, because you want it too, and you''re just too ashamed to say it. A bigger challenge, a darker betrayal.¡±

    ¡°Fine¡­Miss Black. Feed me something tempting, something disposable I won¡¯t miss. You want me, I¡¯m clearly already yours. You want a dead president, you¡¯ll have one soon.¡±

    ¡°Good boy Michael. I¡¯ll see you again very soon.¡± She whispered, pulling his hand and slitting her throat, killing the maid. He stood there, holding the knife, numb with a hollow chill. He suddenly sat up in the hotel bed, knife in hand and slightly blood stained. Wondering if it was a dream and if he was still dreaming. He felt his ear, a slight bite-mark and blood, tacky from time. He looked beside him and down at Nadja¡¯s body, hands bound and restraints cut, face down in the bed, blood streaked across her back in a hand print he recognized as his own.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I resisted, and I¡¯m sorry to lose such beautiful piece of flesh.¡± He sighed softly. She slowly rolled over with a devilish smirk. He stared at her, silently sharing the overwhelming array of emotions that he now understood. She climbed on top of him and tossed the knife aside.

    ¡°You look so surprised to see me, Michael. Like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡± She giggled, lightly clawing his chest and leaning nose to nose, bumping heads and pressing her weight on him.

    ¡°Am I insane, or are you just fucking with my head?¡± he asked her.

    ¡°Both, Mister Finn, and constantly. I like to play with my food too.¡± She replied, leaning to his wounded ear and breathing a breath of ice-cold air down his neck. ¡°Let me know when you get hungry again, and I¡¯ll keep you well-fed.¡± She whispered. He melted into the surrender, opening his eyes and realizing the pitch dark room was as clear as day to him.

    ¡°How do I know any of this is real? How do I know you¡¯re not just a voice in my head, like Mister black, but with a form to it. A hallucination?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t, Michael, but you are the man of faith. Just be happy you got your plaything back.¡± she smiled.

    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll never kill you again.¡± He said, feeling less sane by the moment.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s not a very fun promise, Michael. Don¡¯t make promises we both don¡¯t want you to keep.¡± She chuckled darkly, breaking the wrist restraints and pinning him down by his chest.

    The Hunter¡¯s moon lit the hotel balcony oddly bright, as two figures ground together in the hotel bed, partially visible through the thermal scope on the MPX sitting on the balcony table. The larger masculine body on bottom glowing white-hot, the body on top colder and blacker than the ambient room they were in, like a shadow of absolute evil opacity, and the very dim lukewarm glow of the maid¡¯s arm hanging from the bathtub, growing gradually darker and darker as the corpse equalized to room temperature. The thermal scope flickered and went out as the battery died, and the room equalized to a wall of ever dimming gray. Nothing left to reveal or conceal.

    Only Red and Black remained.

 Volume 3: Chapter 1: "Red and Black"

    A dark flickering room fluctuated with the dimming and moving of candles, the only light in the darkness of the cabin. The slow stretching of a lanky figure in the dark cast a shadow on the wall, almost contorting and bending unnaturally, as if a creature was taking the form of flesh from something else. Perhaps was it merely the moving light playing tricks on the perspective of a skinny naked body, popping and stretching from a long slumber. The subtle groan and exhale reverberating around the area as the figure, now a more stable silhouette of feminine curves in the dark, walked through the room and opened the door. The gap cast a ray of light on the cabin walls, the visible stain of red from violence, sprayed across it and left to soak. The sound of a workshop and bright lighting made Nadja¡¯s face cringe and her eyes clench down to adjust, pupils dilating.

    ¡°Good evening.¡± Mike said, standing in front of a humming machine in jeans and a dirty work shirt.

    ¡°I was rousted by your noise.¡± She groaned, half yawning and half growling, brushing the dark red hair from her face and adjusting her black bath robe.

    ¡°I¡¯m still not used to that color.¡± Mike said, running his fingers across her scalp as she smirked evilly.

    ¡°Well, we can¡¯t have that old one anymore, Michael. Blue, a bit too bold and known at this point. It catches attention.¡± She hissed.

    ¡°You catch attention. Hair color being irrelevant, anything as exotic as you steps into the room and people notice. But it is poetically more fitting. The Red Queen emerges with the hair to match her bloody tiara.¡± He reminded.

    ¡°That was long time ago. I never liked that nickname.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°I never liked you calling me Mister Black or Michael all the time, but that grew on me. It¡¯s what we are. Red and Black. Darkness and blood, chaos and murder.¡± He calmly said, staring into the plexiglass almost sadly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t act like you don¡¯t have fun with it. How do you manage to make such entertaining little sins sound so¡­depressing?¡± she asked with a sigh.

    ¡°Oh you know¡­ Death and I have always had a complicated relationship. Nothing so powerful is ever black and white, simple, easy.¡±

    ¡°You made it seem easy last night. You¡¯re quite the artist with a knife, for someone obsessed with guns.¡±

    ¡°Guns kill better. Knives have no range. Bullets tend to make the fun rather short-lived, though. Tanner taught me that. Slow down and enjoy your artwork. Of course, she¡­only paints a masterpiece on those who truly deserve it.¡± He said, grabbing her red hair and playfully tugging her close, facing away, one of the knives from the table under her neck. ¡°Like us.¡± He finished, planting it into the wooden tabletop with a thud and letting her go.

    ¡°Still fighting yourself and the code of morals your made-up God held you to, after all this time?¡± she chuckled.

    ¡°Old habits die hard. Seems like the habit is one of the 2 things in this room I can¡¯t seem to kill. It¡¯s incredible how something that seems fragile and unreal can be the most difficult thing to cut down and be rid of, hu?¡± he asked her, both taunting and accusing, returning to his machine as the sound winded to a stop.

    ¡°At least you have your toys to keep you busy. I¡¯ve been rather enjoying Jezebel, now that you finally put my sights on it.¡± She said, running her hands over a Champagne-rose and carbon-black pistol.

    ¡°Well you should. The caliber, the design, all inspired by you. If you weren¡¯t flattered and enjoying it, then why would I even bother? I was satisfied with my old pistol. I considered the 7mm apex to be perfection until you insisted on using that hotel-craft-project Ruger of yours. Obsessive about your sights, aren''t you?¡±

    ¡°Well, you know, I have my own way of doing things. Recoil may not be a problem for a big strong man like you taking single shots, but for smaller hands firing twice, every little bit of movement separates those shots. You could have just¡­made one Jezebel. You chose to make yourself a Jezebel in black, chambered in my new¡­5.7 Morozov. Which I do greatly appreciate.¡±

    ¡°No point in having 2 different calibers now. It¡¯s efficient and lethal and cuts through armor and flesh, and now that silence isn¡¯t important, it doesn¡¯t much matter what the gun fires. I¡¯d rather have interchangeable pistol ammunition than a little more power and a few fewer rounds. Don¡¯t think I¡¯m admitting it¡¯s better. I had the 7mm Apex perfected for the game. The game just changed, and your stubborn nature made things complicated for me. So I simplified it again.¡± He said, blocking her way to peak at the thing in the machine. His secret creation.

    ¡°I like to complicate things. Simple is boring. Why do you hide this little project from me? You do not trust me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Christ no, I don¡¯t trust you. I¡¯m not stupid.¡± He huffed with a grin. ¡°I like the reveal. This one is proving to be problematic and frustrating, and a magician never reveals his secrets. I thought you liked the mystery and the drama of me working my magic. Sometimes magic tricks take a few attempts to get right.¡±

    ¡°Da, but when I am paying for the attempts, I want to know what goes on behind the curtains. I want to know you are not just¡­killing time.¡± She accused with a lip bite. He glared back like he was challenging her, tightening his grip on the CNC machine¡¯s sliding door.

    ¡°The trick will be ready when it¡¯s ready. For someone so fond of tricks, you¡¯re less patient when it¡¯s not your idea. You want a dead president, you¡¯ll get a dead president, and that¡¯s my word. When you get it, depends on things neither of us can control, and if you want it done, let me work MY way. We do things your way all the time, the little hunts, the treats, the master plan itself¡­leave the weapons to the fucking gunsmith, little girl.¡± He said aggressively. The little spark of anger in his eyes causing a smile on hers, like it was exactly her intentions, as if she just wanted to say hi to Mister Black and only knocking a little harder seems to get him to answer.

    ¡°Enjoy your toys and your tricks, Michael. I know you¡¯re capable of satisfying my needs¡­so don¡¯t disappoint me on this. I¡¯ll know if it was intentional. This is one game I will not encourage you to toy with me on and instigate. I want a dead president for my birthday. You know what happened when someone betrayed me for my birthday gift. I don¡¯t trust you, either. The moment you fully trust your pet, they bite the hand that buys their machines. You¡¯re not the only one with teeth.¡± She snarled.

    Tanner stood with her arms crossed in a dusty garage, with the faint sound of rap-metal playing in the background. She stared at the workbench as Alexander nervously waited for her response.

    ¡°Well¡­it¡¯s¡­ huge.¡± She said, trying to stay honest without being offensive.

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered, but I¡¯ve heard that before.¡± He nervously grinned.

    ¡°Yea, mkay. So first of all I would know better of all people, and secondly, in this case, bigger is not necessarily better.¡± She sighed, staring at the gun.

    ¡°Shit. Not the time for jesting, I guess. Apologies m¡¯lady. It¡¯s all I could acquire. A work in progress, if you will.¡± he said

    ¡°No, no. I¡¯m not disappointed or mad. Stop trying so hard to ass-kiss and look pitiful. Holy hell, what is this like 3 feet long? How is this a compact rifle?¡± she said, picking up the rifle.

    ¡°29 inches, actually. Please, darling, do not compare me to him. I am a bladesmith not a gunsmith. You have waltzed into my studio of wondrous sharp and shiny things, none of which throw bullets, and ask me to craft a weapon fitting of the great Michael Finn. Your expectations should be tempered by now. Some of us lack the ability to pray to the god of war and pull forth from our asses a rifle of gold. Mere mortals, like me, must purchase and modify them. Some of the parts have not arrived yet. It will be trimmed and sleek, my love.¡±Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°So you¡­probably haven¡¯t figured out how to make the bullets for my 7mm handg-sorry, SORRY. I don¡¯t really understand how difficult this stuff is. I¡¯m not demanding, I¡¯m just asking.¡± Tanner stammered as Alexander scratched his chin in frustration.

    ¡°Imagine, if you will, that I were to miraculously pull a rabbit from my hat and present it to you and rather than gasp and blush you merely said¡­why not an alpaca?¡± Alexander sighed playfully.

    ¡°That hard, hu?¡± She sighed back, looking awkward.

    ¡°My laptop is full of scrubbed searches and incognito wordplay, dancing about the question we all want to know: hhhhWat¡­the fuck are these rounds made of.¡±

    ¡°Magnesium.¡± She shrugged.

    ¡°Which I have acquired and blackened my table with, trying to melt and shape. Magnesium alone does not explode, it just burns...violently. I have gone to great lengths to suspiciously present these aluminum rounds to several men with more reloading expertise them myself, and they have asked questions I did not have answers to, and we have haggled over a lot of money and this is what it has achieved¡­¡± he said flicking open a wooden box of brass rounds loosely strewn inside. ¡°They jam. They jam every shot and this here is my magic reloading wand, an oak dowel I must use to hammer out the brass casing when the gun jams¡­after every shot. What Mystical Mike has created cannot be recreated, and nothing I can get, made in brass, will function. And the reloading experts don¡¯t seem to find any blame in their bullet making, reminding me that I asked for a straight case and straight cases require a special coating to reload or cycle properly. When I ask them if they can simply make a casing that is consumed on ignition and leaves no casing to eject or jam, they look at me as if I asked them to pull an alpaca from a hat. My ideas and patience are all gone, so I have given up and failed you. A gift of something to replace that fucking magical thing your former boyfriend has created that I simply cannot do.¡± He said, trying to sound whimsical and fun through his lightly gnashed teeth and frustrated sweating. ¡°Notice the butterfly knife I made you, in the case as well. Folded Swedish stainless and A2 tool steel, acid etched and very distracting.¡± He added for effect, and to distract.

    ¡°Alex¡­ I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m not trying to get you to be like Mike. Mike was a very unique creature, but at the cost of being a monstrous creature. I¡¯d rather have you and whatever gun that is, than Monstrous Mike and his magic tricks. I would ideally like to keep enjoying the gun, not the gunsmith. He abandoned me and was corrupted by evil, and you never did. I love that you tried so hard to impress me. You didn¡¯t have to.¡± She said giving him a hug.

    ¡°Yes I did. Truth be told I am a very insecure and jealous man, and you dated a legend before me. That sets the bar very high. All I want is to make you happy and keep you safely armed, and I cannot even do that.¡± He said, flicking a brass wildcat round across the room.

    ¡°Yes you have. I¡¯m a stabby bitch. You¡¯ve made me a lot of beautiful stabby things. And you listen to me. That¡¯s important. See, you got me a Sig rifle. It¡¯s got a¡­ I guess folding stock¡­just kinda scrunches down a few inches instead of like origami-folding into the gun.¡±

    ¡°Imagine my shock when I took it apart to find that an essential spring tube for the gun¡¯s functioning was in the stock and cannot be sawed down.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware when I asked for the Origami Transformer shit that they don¡¯t sell those, and it¡¯s a strictly Mike invention. Still could be compact if the barrel is cut down!¡± she said. ¡°What caliber is this?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I was afraid you¡¯d ask. It¡¯s a 556. Standard Ar15 caliber. I asked for an MPX in an armor piercing caliber, and they all laughed at me and said 9mm was the only option. I asked what Sig brand rifle WOULD go through armor, and they suggested this. I scoured the internet deals for our budget and found a gently used Sig M400. So¡­it, is¡­massive. I am terrified to saw the barrel down and discover that somehow I have now ruined it.¡± he huffed.

    ¡°And I assume the can of black paint is because of the¡­what are we calling that color choice¡­ Matte black and factory Dijon mustard?¡±

    ¡°More of an¡­incorrectly aged olive. You hate it.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Alex, it¡¯s fine. I love it. I love the gun, the potential and the effort. I do hate the color, but I don¡¯t know if spray-painting it will screw it up, so I¡¯ll get used to it. Maybe if we paint the plastic stuff Dijon Olive it will match, and kinda vibe. I know you¡¯re not a gunsmith, you just assembled illegal parts on a budget. I didn¡¯t start dating you as a replacement Mike, or a personal arsenal. I started dating you because you were there for me, and listened, and we have a lot in common. We¡¯re both criminals who like knives and have a moral code. That¡¯s very rare to find, and I value that about you. Listen to me. I¡¯m over Mike. You¡¯ve seen the news. He¡¯s not the man I thought he was. That man is gone. Random killings, calling himself Mister Black, making propaganda videos in a mask and quoting weird biblical shit about revelation and promoting crowd Terrorism. He¡¯s stirred up copycat killers, every crazy couple now spray-paints a black and red X on every crime scene like they¡¯re Bonnie and Clyde or something. I feel bad about the cult jokes now, because we¡¯re just a bunch of assholes trying to make a difference, and we can¡¯t put a dent in the chaos being caused by a real cult now.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you truly did dodge the proverbial bullet of his toxic insanity and fell safely into the arms of my¡­cheerful insanity. Loving insanity?¡± he squinted as she gave him a little peck on the lips.

    ¡°You¡¯d have to be crazy to handle me, I¡¯m just glad you¡¯re not god-complex crazy, and you still got the mad scientist vibes I apparently have a thing for.¡± She smiled as Rowan limped down the steps to grab a bottled water from the fridge.

    ¡°A thing for the crazed¡­¡± Rowan muttered. ¡°And yet not a shred of regard for class, sophistication, or dashing looks.¡± He sighed, acting like the sore loser of that competition.

    ¡°Bruh.¡± She shrugged. ¡°You eat people. You¡¯re lucky we even tolerate you here.¡±

    ¡°Says the vicious Murder-Geisha, avenging killer wearing a face covered in blood and white paint.¡± He said, opening the bottle and pouring it into his glass.

    ¡°It¡¯s fake blood!¡± she yelled. ¡°It¡¯s red Halloween gel to look intimidating, it¡¯s not actual victim¡¯s blood on my mouth, there¡¯s a line we don¡¯t cross, and eating human flesh is not doing it for me. You creep me out, you do that personal space thing where you get super close and stare, it¡¯s not classy, it¡¯s Hannibal shit, and you know it.¡±

    ¡°Well, at least Hannibal had charisma and not a top hat full of alpacas.¡± Rowan snipped, leaving the room as she brooded with annoyance.

    ¡°See? He doesn¡¯t listen. The hat DIDN¡¯T have alpacas. That¡¯s the whole point. God I hate him. Even ignoring the creepy cannibal shit, I really just hate him.¡± She pouted, looking at her new rifle.

    ¡°He does make one want to¡­test the new rifle, does he not?¡± Alexander said, trying not to bite his cigarette in half.

    ¡°Look, I get it. I¡¯m used to custom guns designed for special ops, with silencers and foldy things made to hide under a coat, that weight nothing and don¡¯t kick and shoot tiny magic bullets. I¡¯ll just practice more and get used to the gun I have, and when I run out of ammo for my little 7mm, I¡¯ll just¡­have to¡­¡± she pondered.

    ¡°Say goodbye to the good old classic charm of what you loved, and embrace what contraption of close-enoughness does the job.¡± Alexander sighed, feeling a lot like the gun. Just the next best thing available in a pinch.

    Rowan headed up the steps to the main living areas of the now religiously converted clubhouse, as Yuri watched TV on the main screen, drinking a cold beer.

    ¡°You look like shit.¡± Yuri muttered.

    ¡°I do not look like shit, I look fantastic as usual. I just look like I¡¯m in a shit mood, because I am.¡± He said casually, plopping down and resting his expensive, polished shoes on the coffee table. ¡°I¡¯m upset because I joined this little club for protection and benefits and thus far I¡¯ve spent a lot of money on that ungrateful little brat, and not only do I have very little to show for it aside from a dashing stab wound scar, a cracked shinbone and a few looks of revolt¡­ but while Alex hides in alleyways safely and acts like the guns he gives her didn¡¯t come from MY wallet, I don¡¯t even get sympathy for my injuries sustained from being at her side in the courthouse fiasco. It seems a gentleman¡¯s lifestyle has no value over something as stupid as¡­well, Alexander Windrek and stabbing devices. It sounds like he¡¯s using one of them right now, in fact.¡± Rowan jealously brooded to the sound of a table squeaking rhythmically.

    ¡°There is better quality ass out there. Why don¡¯t you find it, or just fight him for spoiled little girl? Like a man.¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a fighter, I¡¯m already injured, and Alexander may have as much experience with a knife as me, but his victims are usually alive and fighting back and mine tend to be already dead and quite immobile. He may be a joke, but jokes can kill. And of course there are better pieces of ass, some of them in my fridge as we speak, but it¡¯s the principal of being bested by an idiot, and an ignored by someone like her, that both annoys and makes me persist. I don¡¯t like to lose at anything. That¡¯s why I use money and wits to win. It seems neither of those impresses her when he has mindless stabbing and the looks of a drug dealer using a circus as a front for selling meth to clowns. For fuck¡¯s sake, he wears eyeliner. It¡¯s just insulting to be so overlooked.¡± Rowan pouted.

    ¡°Yes. I relate. I work hard, do my job, do not get noticed and always feel underappreciated.¡± Yuri sighed. He peered back as Rowan gave him an oddly surprised look. ¡°Different woman, similar problem. What? I have social life.¡± Yuri corrected as Rowans look of alarm calmed down, and he seemed relieved to be battling just the one adversary.

    ¡°Well, perhaps loyalty and honor are our worst enemies, both of us.¡± He said, sipping from his water glass as the sound of a creaking work bench with two people moving on it, tightened his grip in frustration. He fumed silently, raising the TV volume to drown out the repetitive squeaking and occasional grunt or moan. "Fucking Heathens."

 Chapter 2: Recluse

    Mike carefully pried apart a wooden mold and freed an object resembling the frame of a revolver. He inspected it with the light for voids and cracks, and seemed satisfied. He placed it next to the other parts on the assembly bench, with a row of finished products further down. Nadja entered the room, sipping coffee and looking interested.

    ¡°I see you are still not telling me what this is?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to get your hopes up until I was confident it would work. I think I finally got it.¡± Mike said calmly.

    ¡°Good, I was starting to worry why you were spending so much of my money. I thought maybe you were spending a lot of mine on a gift, some form of¡­clothing.¡± She said, looking disappointed.

    ¡°Why would I spend your money on clothing?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°You have. I checked receipts, very expensive fabric. I thought perhaps bulletproof vest, but you don¡¯t hide that in CNC machine.¡±

    ¡°Before you get excited about a new Kevlar prom dress, let me show you what it¡¯s for. Apparently spider silk is expensive and difficult to get, and all I could find is a fashion company that makes spider silk cloth. Limited run, rather rare fashion promotion. I was originally going to use Spiderwire fishing line, but apparently they¡¯re full of shit, and it¡¯s just plastic with a lot of spider implications on the packaging to make it seem like spider silk.¡± He said, holding up a patch of brownish gold fabric. ¡°But this is the real deal. Mixed with some carbon fiber sheeting and alternated, soaked with a slightly modified resin blend, I¡¯ve come up with a plastic strong enough for firearm parts. Barrel and springs included. I went back to the drawing board, copying an old 1700s Pepperbox design with no coil springs or screws. THIS is part of the Recluse. That will go through a metal detector, disassemble and fit into a modified shoe sole, and can be re-assembled in about 30 seconds with no tools. It¡¯s even rifled with a bit of titanium alloy.¡±

    ¡°Titanium, for metal detectors?¡± she asked skeptically.

    ¡°Little known fact, Metal detectors don¡¯t pick up pure titanium for shit. The little bit of Titanium cobalt in these plastic cased bullets won¡¯t set them off, and neither will a very thin barrel liner. How thick of a barrel liner, is a matter of how sensitive the detectors are, and how much titanium determined the power we can put through this. Just needs testing."

    ¡°Titanium surgical screws set off detectors.¡± She reminded.

    ¡°Medical implants are never just pure titanium, that¡¯s why they trip them. These rounds may not shoot through a high quality bulletproof vest, but a headshot would be very lethal."

    ¡°So sad. No armor piercing plastic bullets?¡± she pouted.

    ¡°Nadja, honey. Plastic bullets suck, and my whole gun gimmick and the reason my normal little 22 round will cut through armor at all, is because of the magnesium propellant case. The whole damn round is almost solid metal. That¡¯s a problem for metal detectors. But after 3 failures and some little changes.¡± He said, showing the already assembled ones. ¡°We have some ammo to play with and 6 Recluse revolvers, and this one is just for blowing up.¡±

    ¡°You are going to blow up your new gun?¡± she asked.

    Tanner passed Yuri as he headed out the door. Looking rushed and halting his progress.

    ¡°Yuri, can we talk?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I prefer no.¡± he shrugged. ¡°I have date with attractive blonde.¡±

    ¡°Okay, good for you, but can you spare 5 minutes?¡± she asked, as he rolled his eyes and checked his watch.

    ¡°Five minutes.¡± He said, leaning on the wall.

    ¡°Is Rowan dangerous?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Everyone here is dangerous. I am dangerous. You are dangerous.¡±

    ¡°I mean, he only seems to talk to you, he has stalker vibes, and I don¡¯t trust him. Unfortunately, he¡¯s the only one here with money, and a HATE that. But none of us can get a day job, we¡¯re all wanted, and without his funding we¡¯re kinda dead in the water. I can¡¯t help but feel like he¡¯s expecting something for his money, out of me.¡±

    ¡°Honest opinion. He is annoying creep. I have connections, money can be made with some...illegal effort. Use his money now, and if he cuts us off, we work around.¡± he shrugged.

    ¡°Damnit dude, I don¡¯t wanna be hired killers just to afford guns and I don¡¯t wanna turn on our own group, if we can¡¯t trust each other not to kill each other, than we have no chance here. Don¡¯t tell Alex, but I still think we can help Mike. He''ll never be the same and I won''t go back with him...but he saved my life twice and pulled me out of the dark, and now that Nadja has him pulled into it, I can¡¯t just let him die in there. He¡¯ll never be MY Mike again, but if we kill her, at least he can be free, and we can see if there¡¯s anything left to save. Maybe even lead.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where I disagree. There is nothing to save. Killing him would be mercy rather than being her slave, and he would kill us for her. You want to free Mike? Put a bullet in his head. None of us can get close, but he would not kill you if you did. That is your best gift to him. The gift of freedom. Death. With Nadja¡¯s most potent weapon eliminated, she could be stopped. Do not live in dreams, and die for them. Rowan is whiny bitch with deep pockets, let him cry and pay for things, when he stops, we make our own money. Alexander is good man, he loves you, don¡¯t lose someone real over preacher who is too lost to help. Kill Mike, then we kill Nadja, You do fine. Survive. Now, I must go. I have a date, and if I disappoint her, I will not get my treat. Best to enjoy what can be had, rather than live in the past and try to save a dead man¡¯s soul. Nobody leaves Nadja. She either kills you or throws you away like me. Mike is too valuable to lose for her. She has a way of getting what she wants.¡± Yuri said, patting her head and making his leave with a bag and the subtle reveal of electrical cable cutters under his hand, clanking off his silver rings.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Please tell me you¡¯re not murdering your date.¡± Tanner yelled.

    ¡°No. Different job.¡± He hollered back.

    ¡°Promise you¡¯re not using the cutters on your date!¡± she insisted. ¡°We have a rule about who we kill and transparency within the group!¡±

    ¡°Cutters are for¡­ Not-so-legal, but paying electrician gig. I promise I¡¯m not killing anyone, unless unexpected self-defense. Not likely. Stop worrying.¡± He insisted back.

    "Oh, I''m gonna worry." she pouted.

    Mike stood back with a piece of string and the gun in a vise, pointed into the woods at a vest on a log.

    ¡°Testing consecutively more powerful loads in Plastic revolver, in 3,2,1¡­¡± he finished by pulling the string. The gun made a very anemic little puff as he approached the bench and moved the vise, rotating it to a mark on the table for the next round.

    ¡°Not very impressive.¡± She scowled.

    ¡°I¡¯m ramping it up gradually. Don¡¯t get your princess panties in a twist, if we blow the gun up on the first shot, all we learned is that I spent a week making a sacrificial gun to prove that it doesn¡¯t work with whatever power that was. It¡¯s an 8 shot gun. We got 8 different rounds, all we gotta do is get through the vest before the gun breaks and then find out where it broke and if that¡¯s fixable. He said pulling the string again, repeating the process until round 6. He pulled the string again, and the gun made an unsettling jump, now looking less than ideal as smoke wafted from the slightly bulged top.

    ¡°Shame.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°Shame hell, it lasted longer than I hoped for. Now we know 550 foot-pounds kills the gun. And unfortunately, the cylinder split open. So there¡¯s no way to beef that up.¡± He said, forcefully prying the cylinder open. ¡°Though not as bad of a failure as I expected. I think the gun might still work with one chamber missing.¡± He said writing down his notes and reloading the remaining 7, returning to his string distance and firing off the other 7 without a problem, the gun jamming as it got to the cracked spot where number 8 breached. ¡°I¡¯ll be damned¡­and since I¡¯m with you, I probably already am damned. So 500 seems to be the safe limit, I¡¯ll dial them to 450 just to be safe, A little less for subsonic rounds, since these skinny shells are not going to hold the full 450 with a big tungsten round to keep it slowed down. We¡¯re still in 5.7mm territory.¡± He said inspecting the vest and noticing the holes.

    ¡°And that¡¯s a level 2 Kevlar vest, with most of the hotter rounds going through. I¡¯ll take it. Aim for the head anyway, but at least we know if we have to take body shots at 30 feet, this will do the job nicely on anything shy of level 3¡±

    ¡°Michel, you always tease with the twists and turns, but you never fail to amaze me in the end. A fully functional plastic revolver that will hide in a fucking shoe. I assume you will be testing all night?¡± she asked

    ¡°Oh absolutely. But don¡¯t look so disappointed, I know I spend a lot of time doing what you ask me to, and working myself long hours, but it¡¯s date night, and I promised you earlier a night out. This only changes one little detail.¡± He said, handing her a slip of paper. She looked confused.

    ¡°Tickets to a music show I¡¯ve never heard of. Michael, you don¡¯t even like this kind of music.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. I absolutely fucking hate pop music. That¡¯s why it¡¯s going to be so much fun. Get your fancy black corset.¡± He grinned, a strange glimmer in his eye.

    Tanner woke from a nap, her phone buzzing and a strange number appearing. She hesitantly picked it up.

    ¡°Birch¡­catering service.¡± She answered.

    ¡°Um, this might be a dead end, but I had to call.¡± Said a deep and troubled voice. ¡°I¡¯ve been calling everyone on this phone. Is this Tanner?¡± he asked as she went silent for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m calling about Caleb Gram. I¡¯m his brother. Your number was on the phone when they gave us his belongings¡­after the¡­murder.¡±

    ¡°FUCK!¡± she silently mouthed. ¡°No, this is Jill¡­ I don¡¯t know any Tanner, but I met your brother, he¡­seemed like a nice guy.¡± she bluffed.

    ¡°I just. There are a lot of things that didn¡¯t add up, and I didn¡¯t know if I should talk to the cops or if they would believe me. I thought maybe one of his friends could answer some things for me. I¡¯m in a really dark place and losing my mind here. Everyone¡¯s saying my little brother was some kind of cult killer, and it just doesn¡¯t make sense. I¡¯m sorry, maybe I shouldn¡¯t be talking to you. You don¡¯t even know me. I should leave this to a professional, a private investigator or something.¡±

    ¡°NO! I mean¡­ I dated a private investigator; they take your money and then feed you bullshit. It¡¯s a whole scam. You can¡¯t trust their information. Now is a bad time for me, but maybe we could just talk in person and clarify some things.¡±

    ¡°Yea. That would be good. I¡¯m Gabe. Gabe Gram.¡±

    ¡°Jill¡­Smith. She said, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. ¡°Let me text you later, we can get coffee and hopefully clarify some things.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love that. Caleb was such a lone wolf, I feel like I barely know him. I trust a friend of his, over the news any day. Means a lot. I¡¯ll let you go, Jill. You have a great night.¡± He said hanging up.

    ¡°You did what?¡± Alexander asked, as Tanner stood frustrated and confused.

    ¡°I¡­I just agreed to meet and talk to him.¡± She argued.

    ¡°What strange impulse leads you to believe this was a good idea?¡± Alexander argued, ¡°You answer the call of a dead man¡¯s brother who perished in your war, to clarify some mysterious questions he may have?¡±

    ¡°He was going to hire a private investigator, Alex. He sounded pretty messed up. Do we want some alcoholic ex-cop, fired for shady shit and working as a private dick, snooping around Caleb¡¯s last known residence and associates, which is HERE and US?¡±

    ¡°Damn the ill-fortuned bullshit. So your plan is to do what, exactly?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I dunno. Just give some closure and help the guy find peace so he doesn¡¯t dig into our illegal killer club. I¡¯ll just tell him what he wants to hear, and say Caleb was a great guy and in a better place now. I gotta do something. He¡¯s already interested in answers, and ghosting him just fuels the bad theories. I¡¯ll handle it.¡±

    ¡°Handle it discreetly and, armed with caution. If you need me, I shall be in the distance, with a scope¡­on a ridiculously long olive Dijon rifle.¡± Alexander sighed.

 Chapter 3: Glowing Embers

    Tanner sat at the park bench, nervously trying to handle it. A very tall, clean-cut man, early 30¡¯s built like a tank and dressed casually, approached her with a sad wave. She waved back. He walked, hands in his cargo pants¡¯ pockets, and his blue shirt far too tight either to show off his physique or proving he didn¡¯t know about laundry shrinking in the wash. It wasn¡¯t until he got closer, she noticed the military tattoo and boots.

    ¡°Oh fuck me running, that¡¯s just HHhhheeeyyy! Gabe?¡± she smiled.

    ¡°Gabe Gram. Jill?¡± he asked. She blinked and looked confused. ¡°You are Jill Smith, right?¡± he added.

    ¡°Right. That¡¯s my name.¡± she giggled.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I get that it¡¯s a fake name. I¡¯m not concerned about it.¡±

    ¡°What? Why would you think, that?¡± she nervously smiled.

    ¡°Random guy calls your phone, says he wants to meet, claims to be your dead friend¡¯s brother. Sounds pretty sketchy. I¡¯d use a fake name too. And you¡¯re carrying. Smart. Pretty little gal, can¡¯t be too safe. Public park, everyone can see us, but nobody can hear us. Look, I know my little brother ran with some bad people, but I don¡¯t believe he was a bad kid. Mom and dad practically disowned him while I was overseas, and I felt terrible that I couldn¡¯t be there for him. Everyone saying he killed a guy, I know Caleb, he wouldn¡¯t kill anyone. But he ran with some people who might have set him up. Of course, the police didn¡¯t help a damn bit. No wonder he ran away. I¡¯m not gonna ask how you know each other and what you do. I know all of his friends were drug dealers or addicts, and he had a problem, owed some money to people. I don¡¯t care if you got a record or anything, I just wanna know about Caleb. I can¡¯t believe he killed a man over a drug deal, he didn¡¯t even like guns, and we¡¯re a family that grew up around them. He disappears, and then he turns up dead in an alley and lumped in with some gang members who kidnapped and killed a mayor, now they¡¯re calling it a terrorist organization. Ma¡¯am I fought against terrorism in the Rangers, I don¡¯t believe for a second he fell in with some terrorist group.¡± Gabe sighed.

    ¡°Okay, I can tell you want closure, and you¡¯re gonna get it one way or another. We both know the cops won¡¯t help, and you seem like a nice guy just trying to clear your kid brother¡¯s name, but you really don¡¯t wanna get involved with private investigators when there¡¯s a terrorist group going nuts right now, and misinformation running rampant. So I¡¯ll be very honest with you, but you have to trust some of my¡­discretion. Okay?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°Mkay, that''s nice, but not necessary. I have a boyfriend, I don¡¯t need the ma¡¯am thing. I also don¡¯t need to get anyone in trouble, including myself, over shit that¡¯s not my business. I knew your little brother, he was staying with me. US, not ME. I have a group of¡­former¡­addicts. People the system kinda fucked over, who made mistakes, and we try and make a difference by giving second chances and getting people a place to stay and get clean. It¡¯s a whole church thing, but it¡¯s off the records. We reach out to people in bad situations and help them, and Caleb found us. He was mostly clean already, we gave him some work to do, he did some¡­mechanic work for my boyfriend, and he was very nice to everyone. He even told me, as we require, full disclosure of criminal things, why he needed the group. He said the same thing you said, he got into selling drugs, believe me I can relate, I was brought into this group by our former pastor who recently became very ill and might, not make it.¡± she said tearing up at the ironic truth. ¡°But we have faith he¡¯ll recover, and that¡¯s what we do. We help, and we stick together, and we have faith. I don¡¯t know who Caleb owed money to, and who he pissed off from what deals, but he was getting clean and better and fucking Damnit, he tried to be a hero and reach out to someone himself and I think he just got in the way of the terrorist group. I''m the one who encouraged him to try and help, and I think he overshot his ability. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± She said, looking genuinely sad and guilty. ¡°It¡¯s my fault, I think he was trying to impress me, and he swung for the fence and thought he could reach out to some really dangerous people. And from what I was told, he was in the wrong spot at the wrong time. My boyfriend saw it happen. I promise you, Caleb was not a killer, let alone one of these Red and Black terrorists. He was probably the nicest and least criminal of our church, and he shouldn¡¯t have been involved.¡±

    ¡°Yea¡­now that¡¯s the first thing I¡¯ve heard that makes sense. Caleb was always trying to impress someone, usually a girl like you. Getting in over his head and pissing off some angry guy twice his size.¡± He smiled, fighting back tears. ¡°I knew he wasn¡¯t part of some terrorist group, fucking ties to Russian mafia or end of the world cult shit, God the videos are all over the internet, this Mister Black shit.¡±

    ¡°Yea, I saw it too. It¡¯s hard to watch, and I can imagine thinking someone you love was part of that, would be horrible. Especially if you knew they weren¡¯t like that. It¡¯s more relatable than you know. But, Caleb wasn¡¯t a monster. He was a good kid with really shitty luck, and he just seemed to always find the wrong person to get in front of. Yea, he sold some drugs, big fuckin deal, I was a junkie and a dealer once. I got clean and found a family. I just wish we could have done something more.¡±

    ¡°Me too.¡± Gabe nodded.

    ¡°Just please don¡¯t get involved with this terrorist group. I know someone who did, they went missing, and they may never come back. I hope I¡¯m wrong, but this Mister Black cult is dangerous, and you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re dealing with. They have connections and money and shit we don¡¯t, just have faith that somehow justice will come around and things will get better. Don¡¯t get killed looking for these people, they¡¯ve killed cops and a fucking mayor for shit¡¯s sake. They got machine guns into a courthouse and walked out with a mayor hostage, and nobody seems to know how that¡¯s possible. Just know that Caleb was not a bad person, no matter what the media might say or¡­assholes that don¡¯t know him. You just gotta find some closure there in that, and let go of what you can¡¯t change. He died trying to be a good person, and you can take that to heart. And my friend¡­will be okay, and come home some day. I have faith in that. In him. I think.¡± She said patting his arm.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, I appreciate your help and I will keep this between us. It was nice to meet you Jill Smith, from the catering service. You have a blessed day.¡±

    ¡°Yea¡­blessed. Sure.¡± She nodded, looking she didn¡¯t believe it.

    The small music venue buzzed with people and excitement, far too much for the quality of the commercialized music being sold. The sound of the instruments being set up and the ambient roar echoed from the main room to the long line where Mike and Nadja stood, looking oddly calm and collected. Mike took a few swigs from a small plastic bottle, tossing it in the trash as they neared the entrance and without hesitation, their fake tickets passed visual inspection and earned a stamp. They made their way to the walk through metal detectors and Mike went first, stepping through casually as the machine made no sound. He locked eyes as Nadja delayed, and he leaned against the wall, digging in his jacket and pulling out a comb, giving his hair a quick adjustment, and diverting attention. Nadja walked through the machine and the alarm beeped as she stepped back.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Underwire.¡± She said coyly to the security guard.

    ¡°Please step aside for inspection.¡±

    ¡°Seems a bit overkill.¡± She insisted.

    ¡°Well, I agree, but with this big flair up of crime lately with the terrorist group, security is beefed up, and Sage Ember gets a lot of death threats, believe it or not. Lotta crazy people do crazy shit these last few weeks. Dead popstar is all we need on the shitlist.¡± He sighed, grabbing the wand. She held her arms out as he ran the wand around her and got to her ribcage, the left side showing nothing and the right side lighting up the wand.

    ¡°Is your toy broken?¡± she smiled darkly.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, I¡¯m going to have to ask you to discreetly step into the security room. We can get a female officer to check you if you¡¯re more comfortable. But I can¡¯t let you in until you¡¯ve been checked, and obviously I can¡¯t ask you to raise your shirt right here.¡± He sighed with mild annoyance.

    ¡°Oh, well, you didn¡¯t even try.¡± She teased as Mike approached, lighting a cigarette, and looking interested.

    ¡°Is there a problem?¡± he asked the guard. ¡°You seem very interested in my wife.¡±

    ¡°Sir, you can¡¯t smoke in here. She set off the wand, happens all the time, but it¡¯s in an inconvenient area. If you two could follow security to a private room, I¡¯m sure this won¡¯t take long.¡±

    ¡°Well, I guess that answers the question of how much titanium it takes to set off a detector. Just the right side of the ribs?¡± he asked cryptically.

    ¡°Yea. Some kind of medical implant?¡± the guard asked. Mike finished the long drag on his cigarette and exhaled, reaching into his jacket.

    ¡°Barrel reinforcement sleeves.¡± He said, placing the off-brown composite gun to the man¡¯s head and blowing pieces of brain out of his right eye socket. Nadja screamed and ran, as security swarmed Mike, drawing a second revolver of the same burnt bronze colored plastic, taking 3 of them down with precision shots to the head as he stepped through the doorway and into the venue, the crowd scattering in a panic. Nadja sent a text to her phone and within seconds, the lights went off, all except emergency exit signs. Mike peered over his glasses, the human targets blending like dark red smudges into one writhing mass, a few brighter spots in the crowd pulling his barrels like a magnet and aiming them without hesitation. The crowd became individual people again as the flash of the revolvers firing in unison lit the room up for a second, returning to black and the few dots of bright white remaining, the two closest ones dimming as they fell and Mike adjusted his targets for the other security guards.

    Nadja darted right past the crowd and security as they singled Mike out, getting all the attention in the chaos and panic around them. She pulled her revolvers, taking 2 shots to the head on each of the band members on stage and switching guns to put a fresh loaded one to the head of the blonde sex symbol, hunkering on stage.

    ¡°Get up, Sage. Move or die.¡± She said coldly.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Sage asked, the gun resting on her face and firing, clipping her ear and deafening her on one side, Nadja yanked her by the hair to bring her other ear to her venomous black lipstick.

    ¡°I said move or die, this is not complicated order.¡± She emphasized as Sage took the message clearly and began to exit. Mike finished emptying his guns, pocketing them and taking out the last one, 8 rounds freshly loaded and in-hand.

    ¡°Security is eliminated. Your helper did well with the lights, so I assume the back door is unlocked and clear.¡± Mike said as Nadja giggled, impressed and turned on at his efficiency.

    ¡°And you did all that without your god. You see what happens when you pray to something real like me? You don¡¯t even need your scopes anymore, Mister Black.¡± She whispered, yanking Sage along as she leaned into mike for an aggressive kiss, and broke free.

    ¡°Holy fucking shit¡­you¡¯re the terrorists?¡± Sage gasped in shock.

    ¡°Now we have your attention.¡± Nadja hissed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we just want a small collector¡¯s fee and a short little video recording of you reading our script to make a point, and you¡¯ll be released, unless of course you do something stupid and make us do what you know we can do. You¡¯ve seen the videos.¡±

    ¡°Please.¡± Sage sighed, following the lead, ¡°I¡¯ll do and say what you want, whatever money you need will be given, I just want to live.¡± She begged as Mike led her aggressively to a parked Motorcycle, looked down the road at a dark figure walking away with a hand up like a signal. 3 silver rings gleamed in the dark, under the flicker of a cigarette lighting in front of the man, vanishing around the corner alley. Mike stepped over the dead man on the ground, taking one of the Jezebel pistols from the bike¡¯s seat, left like a present, and tossing it back to Nadja.

    ¡°See you at the house, honey.¡± He said, shoving Sage onto the bike, revolver in hand, as he took off down the road with their prize in tow. Nadja licked her right canine like a hungry animal, clicking out the folded stock from seemingly nowhere on the pistol, firing a sustained burst of gunfire into the venue, cutting down civilians for the fun of it until the magazine went empty. She reloaded and made her way down the alley, hopping on a black bike in the shadow, and rocketing off as if nothing had even happened.

    Gabe sat alone, watching the news about Sage Ember¡¯s abduction and drinking a beer in the dark, cleaning his Colt M4 Carbine. He picked up the phone, listening as if waiting for something.

    ¡°Incredible work, man. Yea send everything.¡± He said, pulling up his laptop and playing the bootleg video copy from the security cams. ¡°Did someone shoot out the cameras?¡± he asked. ¡°Oh, They killed the lights first. No, I know that¡¯s not publicly available. I wanna know how they got guns past security. That place had VIP shit, and they just walked right in armed with, looks like, revolvers. Too grainy to tell what kind.¡± He said, as he paused and zoomed in on Nadja, mid-turn and oddly clear. ¡°Yea, police reports said no security footage for an identification, but it''s funny how this looks pretty clear to me. Run that through facial recognition. Both of them. Pull favors.¡± He said, leaning in closer and rubbing his eyes, deciding no more beers for the night, as he clicked the back and forth arrows, with a hunted look. He clicked again, moving one frame forward and back, Nadja''s face in clear view, and then one frame of her eyes jet black with glowing orange centers, the face blurred and pixilated some kind of digital error, the things that give you nightmares. He brought up another video of a shooting in Texas at a hotel. Zooming in on the woman mid-sprint carrying an ar57. The same thin streak of orange, trailing from her one visible eye. ¡°The fuck is going on, man? Some kinda contact lenses? Look into contact lenses that can obscure security videos, see what you got on that. She might be an operative. Yea, I caught that sound. That¡¯s not an echo? Gotta be a double-tap trigger mod job of some kind. Funny how this got blacklisted, and the news reported it as a gang shooting, just like the courthouse incident.¡± He said, cracking open an energy drink and preparing for a long night of weird questions.

    He put the phone on speaker and sat it down to type. "I want everything on any gang shootings that seem like a cover, see if you can get anything you can on a man with a graying beard, and a woman with blue or red hair. It¡¯s not a gang hit. It¡¯s two people. Same two people, I think. This is a damn cover up if I ever saw it.¡± Gabe sighed.

    ¡°You know this is illegal shit, and you owe me.¡± Said the phone voice.

    ¡°Man, if I¡¯m right. That¡¯s the guy who killed Caleb. I can¡¯t name names I don¡¯t know, but I talked to some people who say he didn¡¯t do a damn thing wrong except steal a car and some drugs and this fucker took him out just for being in the way. I don¡¯t give a shit what I owe you or how illegal this is, someone¡¯s gonna pay for this. That¡¯s my little brother he killed. You don¡¯t fuck with family. Get some guys onboard, heavy hitters, see who¡¯s looking for some action.¡±

    ¡°I hope you have some money saved up for this.¡± Said the voice.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get the money, Just keep giving me information worth paying you for.¡± He said, hanging up and comparing the two pictures of Nadja and the disturbing orange streak in her eyes.

    ¡°Who¡­are you?¡± he whispered to himself, her eyes glowing like the burning embers of his vengeance. "WHAT are you?"

 Chapter 4: Fading Souls

    Tanner sat in the dark, watching the news as Yuri came home, bypassing the kitchen and heading to his room in the attic, trying to outrun the tiny footsteps without looking like he was evading. He closed the door most of the way before being stopped by a hand, and letting out a sigh of annoyance. Tanner opened the door and stared accusingly.

    ¡°Did I violate curfew, Officer?¡± He sarcastically gruffed at her.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have one, but you apparently had a good date night. You were gone for hours. What¡¯s in the bag?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Presents for orphans. I run secret charity. Why do you care?¡± he said trying to shut the door.

    ¡°Very funny. But this group has trust issues for a reason, and you took tools and a bag for a date, and then hours later a concert gets shot up, and shortly after, you come back from your date with a heavier bag.¡± She said flashing a very custom hand made knife. ¡°You wanna explain what¡¯s in the bag?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go for a walk outside.¡± He insisted, opening the door and being blocked by her step.

    ¡°Right, so you can kill me outside the house and hide the body in the pond. I¡¯m that stupid. You¡¯re still working for Nadja.¡±

    ¡°That bitch who shot me for doing my job, and left me broke and homeless in America, didn¡¯t even give me a fucking fake passport to go home? The bitch who tried to kill me outside the courthouse job? Not likely. You want truth, we go for walk.¡± He insisted.

    ¡°Make it make sense.¡± Tanner insisted back.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to, but I don¡¯t want everyone else knowing the truth. Just because I¡¯m not stabbing you all in the back doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not up to something personal and I prefer to keep it quiet. Search me, I have a knife in my left boot, and a 9mm in my right jacket pocket. Take the bag, put a gun in my back, and we will go for a walk. If you don¡¯t like what you hear, you kill ME and hide the body. Yes?¡± he shrugged.

    The night air and sound of bugs cut through the awkward silence, as the church in the background, a few windows lit, got far enough for comfort. Tanner nudged him with the gun.

    ¡°Okay we¡¯re alone, the pond is downhill so you¡¯ll roll easier. Why are you working with Nadja and why should I not just kill you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not working with Nadja. I just went out to kill Nadja, I failed. I got a tip from a contact that she was going to hit a concert, I wanted to take her out as she left, catch her off guard. I don¡¯t know how she got away. I thought I had the best exit covered.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit. You would have told us, and we could have moved as a team."

    ¡°No, you would have taken lead and told us to kill her but not to hurt your preacher, who you are still in love with. Rowan is the selfish prick and Alexander is idiot, you are just foolishly in love. He would have noticed one of us, and killed us all, or everyone but you. Maybe she would have killed you, best case someone would have killed her by luck and robbed me of the satisfaction while we all risk our lives. You are good girl, with leader potential, but not ready to take on Nadja, you are easy to track and not a true leader yet. I saw an opportunity to kill them both quietly and without warning, and you would not have let me kill Mike. Mike is dangerous. Mister Black is even more dangerous, and 4 armed amateurs with all exits covered, is easy to notice. One man in the dark with a 9mm is easy to miss. I was going to kill them both.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Even if you¡¯re telling the truth, and I believed you, I can¡¯t let you kill Mike. And I don¡¯t believe you. If she can turn Mike, she can turn any man, and you worked for her. You¡¯re still in love with her and working for her. I found the cash under your bed. I trusted you. Explain why you¡¯d be immune to her charms and where the money is coming from? Explain why you were out there keeping this a secret?¡± she asked.

    ¡°The money I have been saving is to get home to Russia. I have pulled some favors and done some favors for it, jobs you would find questionable, maybe not approve. I have something in Russia worth more than this group that I would kill for, and you wouldn¡¯t understand. Men like me have a reputation to keep, and we get killed for secrets like I have. Your preacher killed innocent people to take a hostage tonight, is that really the man you love, who is fucking that demon behind your back and telling you to stay away? Death is his only release now. He deserves it for what he¡¯s become, and you are too weak to see it, and we will all die for him, if you cannot see that. Love makes you do stupid things. So I will leave and go back to Russia, survive this game, but I need money to do that and don¡¯t have it. Nobody can know this, I am trusting you with not just my life, but someone I care about.¡± He said, getting out his wallet and taking out a folded piece of paper, a photograph of a man standing next to him.

    ¡°Your brother, Nikolai¡­ You mentioned him once before when I saw that picture in your room. Why is he on the run? Why is this a big secret?¡±

    ¡°Nicolai is not my brother. I have no brother. Nicolai is old military friend. You want to know why Nadja¡¯s irresistible charm did not work on me, why I cannot be in love with her? Because I am in love with Nicolai. If I went home, she would have men waiting to kill me, and him. She does not like men she cannot control. She is a demon of temptation, what use is a man who cannot be tempted by a woman? What use is a man to her who cannot fall for her? I need her dead before I can go home to him, I need to kill her myself because she has my soul. I need money for passports, and I need your blind love for the lost preacher to not get me killed in the process.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not a demon with your soul, that¡¯s just your vengeance and superstition. Fuck¡­and I¡¯m guessing the Russian hitman brotherhood is under her spell and not the biggest fan of gay men in their society. How do I know any of this is true? How do I know that¡¯s not just your brother, and you made that story up to cover your ass when I found out you were still on her side? How do know anything you said is true?¡± she asked.

    Tanner sighed and flipped through the stack of love letters written in Russian, the pictures of them together, holding each other in a way brother¡¯s wouldn¡¯t, old passports and photos with different last names on their IDs and an older photo of them in what looked like high-school. She picked up a strange piece of very old parchment with religious symbols, a wax stamp, and a Russian signature in what looked like dried blood.

    ¡°Shit.¡± She sighed. ¡°She really convinced you she has your soul. So you¡¯re really trying to get back to your boyfriend in Russia, and she completely screwed you over and could probably have him killed if she knew who he was.¡±

    ¡°She knows what I am, but she doesn¡¯t know about Nicolai, and he¡¯s alive because she does not know. I don¡¯t want to be part of American hitman club or warrior for god. I have a life to go back to. This becomes void ONLY If I kill her myself. This whole group is temporary alliance until I could kill her and Mike. If you really love Mike, you will understand what she does to men. She killed him already and whatever monster Mike was keeping tucked away inside, is now under her control and all that is left. His soul is suffering, He has contract too. So¡­I will kill him or die trying. You will kill me for this, and she will kill you for the fun of it. We all lose, and we lose everyone. Or you can see that this is freeing him.¡± He said as tanner sniffled back a tear. ¡°Cry for your lover, because he is dead, heal, be strong, and if Alexander makes you happy, be with him and be happy. Let me kill Mister Black and Nadja and go home before I lose what I love as well.¡± He sighed. She hugged him and cried a little, choking it back and nodding.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°You¡¯re right. He¡¯s just murdering innocent people. That¡¯s against everything Mike stood for and the very thing he tried to get rid of in this world. He taught me everything, and then one day he wasn¡¯t Mike anymore. I just don¡¯t know how to see him alive and breathing and not think he¡¯s in there somewhere¡­but even if he is. He could never live with what he did under her control. What is she? Is she like, the actual devil, for real? Mike wouldn¡¯t do what he¡¯s doing, and yet he¡¯s doing it, and she did that to the best man I know. Yuri, nobody is that hard to kill. Nobody is that seductive and that tempting, no woman could pry Mike away from me and everything he cared about.¡±

    ¡°Unless he sold his soul to protect you. Unless he loves you so much he gave himself away to keep you safe.¡±

    ¡°What the fuck, Yuri?¡± she sobbed in a panic of shock and disbelief. ¡°Are we actually fighting the literal devil here? Revelation speeches, satanic symbols in blood and Mike releasing internet videos talking about the end of days and the apocalypse¡­ Are we actually up against something that isn¡¯t human?¡± she asked, growing cold.

    Mike staggered to the kitchen of the cabin, sweating and covered in blood, his bare chest covered in handprints and nail scratches. He brushed his soaking wet hair back out of his eyes and struggled to breathe as he leaned on the marble countertop, a knife in his hand and his heart pounding. He shakily grabbed the vodka and chugged a few swigs to get his breathing calmed.

    ¡°I swear¡­one of these times there¡¯s going to be two dead bodies in this cabin, and nobody¡¯s bringing me back.¡± he sighed in the moonlight. He felt a swell of strange guilt wash over him, like he lost something he missed. There was no response in the silence as he caught his breath, staggering with exhaustion, naked and borderline delirious as his heart struggled to return to normal speed. He stared at the wall, too afraid to turn left, the blue of the moonlit lake to his right through the window and the orange glow to his left of candles and blood. His eyes avoided the blurry peripheral image of a naked woman with red hair, hanging lifelessly from the wrists, on a wooden cross in the next room. He waited for her to move, patiently, as his heart beat faster and nothing happened. He froze in place, unable to turn away from what he did and unable to face it, hoping he would just wake up, next to her in bed and having a bad dream. He waited too long, and staggered to the back deck, grabbing something casually, as he stepped out into the grass and walking to the edge of the water to wash his shame off. He looked down at the human heart in his hand, surgically severed and fresh. "Goodbye Nadja." he whispered, throwing it as far as he could into the lake.

    He stepped into the cold water and plunged his face into it, clearing the blood and rubbing his hands over his face as the grip of hands even icier than the water locked him in place. They pulled, sending him into a panic and holding him under. The strange hands of death were stronger than he could resist or even budge, and suddenly he was at peace, realizing if he died at that moment, it would all end, and he would be free, and his heart slowed, the hands pulling him back out of the water. He gasped for air like an unholy baptism, streaks of red hair draped over his shoulders as the body held him tightly, hugging him and playfully biting his shoulder. Cold as ice.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He sighed softly.

    ¡°For what¡­leaving me all alone to go for a swim? Were you planning to swim away?¡± she chuckled, the familiar Russian accent and strange lisp, befitting a forked tongue¡¯s hiss in his ear.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what I did in there. It started as playful sex, and then I lost control.¡± Mike breathed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare.¡± She snarled, ¡°Don¡¯t you dare feel sorry for having a good time. I¡¯m not something you can just accidentally kill, Michael. Even if you tried, you couldn¡¯t do anything. Why do you think we¡¯re standing here together?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Why do I keep trying to kill you?¡± he asked, ashamed and too tired to fight.

    ¡°Because you enjoy killing. We both do. You love me, and you love killing, and I am your only undefeated prey, so why would you not? You need to kill, and I love that about you. It¡¯s why I chose you. How dare you stand there and act like we did not both enjoy that, the foreplay, the struggle, the sex, and the kill. Are you sad because you thought I was not coming back this time, or sad because you enjoyed doing it, hoping I might not? You hate yourself right now because you gave into me, and because you keep trying to end it. Don¡¯t be so scared, Michael, I¡¯m not something you can kill. I¡¯m something you can truly let go with and be your worst with.¡± She hummed, nuzzling his neck. "And you grow stronger every time you do."

    ¡°That¡¯s what scares me. Either I¡¯m stuck with you for eternity, or I succeed and lose you for eternity. You¡¯re a therapeutic kill better than the rest, one that doesn¡¯t force me to take a human life. I don¡¯t know which is worse, but I hate that I can¡¯t stop trying it.¡± he admitted. ¡°And part of me thinks I¡¯ve finally just gone insane. Maybe I dreamed all of this. Maybe you¡¯re dead in there, and I¡¯m just imagining this last part, standing in the kitchen refusing to turn left and see what I did, or talking to myself in the lake¡± He said, peering out across the lake into the darkness and seeing the little dim red dots moving around the shore. Little warm things breathing and moving around in the night.

    ¡°Da, Michael. You¡¯re just crazy man. I¡¯m already dead. You¡¯re in a padded room by yourself. And never made it out of the courthouse on your own feet. Or maybe I don¡¯t exist. Have you been shooting at your reflection and planning missions alone, Mister Black?¡± she whispered with a giggle.

    ¡°You¡¯re just fucking with me. Tanner saw you, the cops saw you, I didn¡¯t smuggle in 2 guns by myself, or fund my own projects. I suppose The Russians just like me and keep doing me favors for the hell of it. I¡¯m crazy, but I¡¯m not gullible. Everything in the last few hours may be a drunken blur and up for debate, but you can¡¯t fool me that far back. If you want to torment me, you need to know when to stop, or you ruin the believability. You could have stopped with I¡¯m already dead, hanging in the cabin and the guilt broke me, and drove me to the lake to drown myself. I would have no logical reason to doubt that.¡± Mike muttered.

    ¡°Michael, I love when you¡¯re insane and violent, but if I don¡¯t torment you back after what you just did, then we¡¯re not playing fair. If I kill you, you don¡¯t get back up. If I let you have all the fun, then I¡¯m not the monster you thought, and what a disappointment that would be. I have to torture your mind a little. Hold you under long enough to make you wonder if I might keep you under, but not enough to drown you. Of course, I¡¯m real, but the fact that you have to ask, that is the part I enjoy the most. That part you enjoyed the most is already over, and don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll clean the blood for you. You just cool down and don¡¯t have a heart attack on me. Watch the wildlife. I know you can see them scurry. Do any of them glow bright enough to hunt?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough killing for one night. I¡¯m going to go to the workshop and tinker a while. Can you do me a favor?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Da, Sage?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Kill her for me. Make it painless. We¡¯ve scared her enough. Make your point if you have to, blindfold her, headphones, bullet to the head.¡± He said, feeling the swell of regret again.

    ¡°So soft is that heart of yours. You can record your speech later, I will do the execution and disposal. We can simply edit the recordings together. Go play with your tools, sharpen your toys, and finish Azazel.¡± she hissed like an order given, like she was hypnotizing his weakened mind.

    ¡°Azazel is nowhere near finished. Don¡¯t expect it any time soon. I need to clear my head. I need to calm myself down and return to sanity if I¡¯m going to recite another speech for the public. I¡¯m in no shape to preach right now.¡± He finished, slowly breaking her loosening grip and heading to dry land. He tried not to look at the blood on the walls through the open door as he made his way to the garage. He looked back at the water, the dim red glowing smudges of wildlife moving about, and the icy cold female form walking to the cabin doors, pitch black as shadow, even against the cool dark ambient night. It glided to the door, resembling a human only as she stepped into the cabin¡¯s light and the horns vanished, now just a pale nude body, alive and breathing and stepping inside. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder to himself if he could imagine a more attractive woman, would she have always looked that way, or does evil have a single form it reverts back to, by default. Was this evil thing beautiful because she took the form he wanted, or was what he always wanted just the form of evil? Was that body once just a little Russian girl with a soul and a heart, waiting to be possessed and infused, or was Nadja Morozov Ivanova created in a ritual of intention, and born with horns and teeth. Whatever she was, if anything human was ever there, it was long gone now. A window into his own future, perhaps. Maybe some day someone would wonder the same of him. Was Mike ever a human being, or was he just created like this? He stepped into the garage and the door shut, the faint sound of a gunshot and a flash from the cabin¡¯s far north side, followed by the hum of machines from the south side.

 Chapter 5: Red Black and Blue

    Gabe stood in his garage, standing over a table with some cans of paint and masking tape. An army ranger helmet sat at the end, covered in desert camo cloth to obscure the identification. In front, on painted cardboard, was a ballistic mask painted in full matching camo with hand painted fake blood scattered randomly like a Rorschach test, and black accents to emphasize the punisher skull theme. Justice, whether the law permits it or not. He carefully applied some epoxy around the eye openings and placed in the polycarb safety glasses lenses with an American flag print. He double-checked the printout of the Archangel logo he had in a stack next to a staple gun, and decided it was close enough for the symbolism. Another similarly-built man with a bushy beard and extensive tattoos, hovered near, as he gave it a test fit.

    ¡°How does it look, Dyson?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°Pretty badass. Intimidating, I wouldn¡¯t wanna be a terrorist and fuck with someone wearing that kit. I¡¯ll be honest, I still think the silver cross stood out more on the posters.¡±

    ¡°Well, the colorless plate didn¡¯t look silver, it looked iron. That¡¯s a bronze cross, not an iron cross. We¡¯re patriots, not fucking Nazi bikers. I don¡¯t want to intimidate the public and cause fear, I want to cause fear in the hearts of the terrorist group that killed my brother. Anyone in that specific group has reason to fear us, because we¡¯re about to rock their world and bleed some motherfuckers. The last thing we need is the public, already scared and some people rooting for a terrorist organization, thinking we¡¯re just another faction fighting for control and causing more terror. The laws aren¡¯t working, nobody is stopping these assholes, we¡¯re doing it ourselves, and when they¡¯re all dead and forgotten, we stand down and end it. That¡¯s the mission, soldier. Strike down the enemy and fade away.¡± Gabe said.

    ¡°I got you. Maybe we should have just left out the religion entirely. All they need to know is red, white, and blue.¡± Dyson chimed in.

    ¡°It¡¯s my idea, and I¡¯m catholic. I can¡¯t stand seeing some murderous prick shooting up public places and taking hostages to torture, while misquoting MY bible. We need people to see that the cross is not the enemy; it¡¯s just being used to mock us. They¡¯re mocking God and freedom. There¡¯s an election coming up and people are going to be afraid to vote at all, and maybe that¡¯s the point, I don¡¯t know. But people need to know they can do their duty safely and not get shot up at the polls. Freedom to choose your leaders, even if that¡¯s not what I voted for. We still live in a Democratic America, even if it¡¯s turning to shit every day. That¡¯s why I¡¯m a DuPont Supporter. He¡¯s pro traditional American values, and you don¡¯t think Sage Ember getting abducted, a big supporter and active speaker, was coincidence? She''s probably dead already.¡±

    ¡°So put some DuPont shit on the logo. Get people voting the right way.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about voting our way, it¡¯s about the vote itself. The right to stand up on stage and speak your mind to people, the right to fair trails and justice when the laws work. Where was the Justice for Caleb? He broke a few laws, he was a kid, he should have done community service or something to pay for some drugs and a stolen car, THAT would be fair. Not targeted and set up for murder, while the fucker who set him up just goes free, the fuckers who shot him down while trying to help others like himself who just made young stupid mistakes. He did nothing to deserve what happened, and those responsible are out there, causing more harm to other kids like him. He may have fucked up a little bit, but he was a good kid, and he got no justice from this incompetent system. That¡¯s the president¡¯s job. What the fuck did Bloomberg do for 4 years? Kiss some liberal ass and push electric cars for kickbacks? What about crime and terrorism, busted laws and crooked cops? Didn¡¯t do shit. It got worse. All flash and show, no action, well DuPont is about action, and so are we. He¡¯s cleaning up the problem, but not fast enough to finish before elections. Maybe another term would be enough time to do something big. Fixing the laws are his job, making sure people are safe enough to vote and don¡¯t get shot for going out to a concert should be the cop¡¯s job, but they¡¯re not doing it. So if the laws don¡¯t work, fuck the laws. Fuck the terrorists, fuck the system, we joined the army to protect the homeland from ANY threat foreign or domestic, and we¡¯re gonna do that if the broken laws say we can or not, for America, for Caleb and for freedom. I won¡¯t lie and say this isn¡¯t personal or about revenge, but it¡¯s also about so much more than that. We¡¯re trained to do this shit, so why aren¡¯t people like us being sent out to take them down right now? Why is this getting buried?¡±

    ¡°Fuck If I know.¡± Dyson shrugged

    ¡°Politics. Money and greed and bribery. No matter who¡¯s elected, there¡¯s always opposition and corruption, and someone is bogging down the effort and preventing shit from getting done. You think DuPont doesn¡¯t want action taken when he¡¯s the target? Former ass-kisser Bloomberg is either behind this, or someone with money and power backing him up is. He¡¯s trying to disarm us either way. There¡¯s a reason we have Second Amendment rights and a damn right to vote, to get rid of corruption when the government can¡¯t. To defend your home when someone breaks in before the cops can show up, and to fight domestic terrorism on the homeland, American soil. So you wanna wait around and hope for re-election, hope the terrorists getting funding don¡¯t out-fund the good cops and hope they don¡¯t get dragged down by the weight of the bad ones? Just sit around for a few years, another 4 with nothing getting done or things getting worse if they Elect Bloomberg? Not on my watch. People are gonna vote right because they¡¯re gonna feel safe enough to vote, because I¡¯m gonna post a video holding mister Black¡¯s head and tell people nobody fucks with America and God and freedom, get out there and make a difference. This season of red and black bullshit is about to turn red white and blue, and the only red and black is gonna be Mister black, covered in red, on my table. Fucking get some.¡± He said pounding the table with his fist and getting a patriotic grunt from his buddy and a very messy fist bump with two cans of American beer in the mix.

    ¡°Hell yea, brother. Just like old times. Home turf, same game. I¡¯ll fight these bitches on sand or green American grass. Semper Fi, or Sua Sponte. You lead the fucking way. HOOAH!¡± barked Dyson.

    The Whitehouse lawn gleamed like a field of emerald from the bulletproof window, where a tall bearded man in an expensive suit stood, drinking something on the rocks and looking worried. He turned to a set of screens, the left side showing a series of riots and news feeds, on the left, President Boris Sergey Ivanova in Russian uniform.

    ¡°You see the problem, Boris?¡± he asked, sipping his highball.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much. Everything is fine.¡±

    ¡°Everything is fucking fine my ass, your granddaughter is on a killing spree in my country and it¡¯s almost election time. The last thing I need is more death threats and people thinking about me and Russia in the same sentence.¡±

    ¡°William, you have no concern. She appears chaotic, but she is doing her job. There will be President DuPont, the sequel. Your competition, former President Bloomberg, will be taken care of. Elections are nothing more than a show anyway, we have them here too, you know? He won¡¯t survive the debate, and his vice president is even more of a joke than you.¡±

    ¡°I asked for a rigged election, not an assassination, certainly not a cult following leading to an assassination, making it look like I had him killed.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t.¡± President Ivanova shrugged. ¡°I did. Russian operatives did. You don¡¯t make the decisions here. I do. I write your checks, and I know where your family sleeps. We had a deal, the deal is fine. You want more money, I will raise 20 percent.¡± Boris sighed, almost yawning.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°What good is more money if I¡¯m dead?¡± I have riots, crime sprees and some cult shit spray-painted on every building in DC. This black and red Terrorist cult is a lot of attention, getting people worried and suspicious.¡± President DuPont said nervously.

    ¡°You have Secret Service for a reason, hire more. So what if you have riots and crime, this is America. It¡¯s what you do with your guns and your freedom. Nobody even knows who she is, a female figure in black robes obeying a man in a mask quoting the American bible and preaching hellfire. People need to rise up and create sides, because sides fight and divert attention, and attention creates theories, all crazy and nonsense. A terrorist group on your side is what you need right now. Look how well it worked for other American presidents. A handful of dead celebrities endorsing you and a handful of dead celebrities endorsing Bloomberg only looks like radical infighting.¡±

    ¡°Why Sage Ember? I liked her. People liked her, and she talked me up.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. She is a replaceable celebrity face, and your terrible acting looked genuine when you found out she was dead on live TV. You can¡¯t act very well, people know that. So that genuine confusion and shock that your own supporter was killed made you the victim, not an accomplice. Half the death threats you received were from people I hired, and next week while addressing the terrorist attacks, shots will be fired at you on stage, blanks of course, a few live rounds into the crowd for effect. Then, when the debate comes, my best man will kill former President Bloomberg and you have your re-election. I can even have your security team bring down the shooter, a plant of course, and after rigged elections are ended, you will make a speech about how outraged you are that Terrorism in America has robbed you of your fair and elected win, and of course you will accept it reluctantly and promise to bring down both groups taking the law into their hands. We have plenty of people willing to die for either side who don¡¯t know it yet. Imagine the news. The Terrorists have been taken down by President DuPont¡¯s team. We both win.¡±

    ¡°And I owe you a lot of favors, and there are a lot of Russian agents in my country to remind me of that.¡± President DuPont said nervously.

    ¡°You already have that problem. You¡¯ve been paid well for that problem. You will be paid more when it becomes a larger problem. Relax, William. Smarter people than you have this arranged already. You shiver like the war is going to be a real one. Presidents don¡¯t fight wars anyway. They only profit from them. The economy booms, the jobs rise, war is good business, even fake ones. Patriotism will surge, and you will be the face of it. The only terrifying part of war is knowing your enemy could win. We already agreed who wins, and at what cost. A staged war makes as much money as a real one, but you get to sleep at night knowing when it is done, we will negotiate peace, and you will be praised for strength against me, and none of us ever even have our hand on the launch codes, so there is no real danger.¡± Boris calmly reminded.

    ¡°Lot of American soldiers and Russian soldiers will die anyway. Civilians and rioting casualties. How many have to die to make it look real?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not your problem. Your family is safe, your bank account is safe, and it is enough when it seems enough. Cheer up, Mister President. You get to rule twice, you make powerful friends. Remember, Presidents that end wars are loved as heroes. It more than makes up for your¡­public mishaps and sketchy past accusations. You should be thanking me. I may be a warlord like you, but at least I like my whores old enough to drive. People forget things like that when war is happening, and when you, bravely, make the great and powerful Boris Ivanova agree to a draw, well they will build statues to you. Ones that you did not have to pay for yourself and deny. And of course, if I were to find myself with advanced American drones we shot down and reverse engineered during a brief conflict, then it doesn¡¯t look like you sold them during a time of peace. Everyone wins this game, Willaim, except Bloomberg and a few people none of us care about. Legacy is everything. Image is everything. A tyrant showing mercy and restraint because too many good Russians have died, is as beneficial to me as America¡¯s strong hand leader showing he will not back down from a fight. Stop acting like you feel guilty.¡± Boris scoffed.

    ¡°And you¡¯re willing to risk your own granddaughter for this? I¡¯m willing to let people die for my family¡¯s strength, but you really just let Nadja dodge bullets and probably get killed in this?¡± he asked skeptically.

    ¡°It¡¯s adorable that you think the rumors are true. I have no granddaughter anymore.¡± He chuckled. ¡°That monster I summoned is no blood of mine. I wouldn¡¯t care if she died, even if I believed anyone could kill that thing. You see how easy rumors are to spread and confuse, even to your allies?¡± Boris grinned.

    ¡°Then what is she to you?¡± president DuPont asked. Boris smiled distantly, looking into the void of the room and not the camera, as if thinking on that very question himself, a glint of fear in his eyes.

    ¡°You say in your country, something is the lesser of two evils one must choose¡­whatever you chose instead of her is always the lesser evil. It doesn¡¯t matter what else you compare her to. We all pay a price for power, and we all answer to someone for it. You would be best not to worry about anything above your¡­paygrade.¡± He said, looking oddly distant and hanging up.

    ¡°What the fuck did you turn loose in my country, you son of a bitch?¡± DuPont asked, feeling chills at the notion, and washing it down to focus on the show, and his own presentations.

    A single candle in the dark wavered, as Nadja sat legs-crossed and eyes shut, hands to her side, palms open as she recited something incoherent. Her heavily tattooed skin, and shoulder scar visible in her naked state, sitting on the wooden floor. 2 pistols rested in front of her at 45 degree angles and between them and her, a wooden bowl of something dark. She dipped her fingers in the bowl, pulling them out red and wet, combing through her hair and taking in a long deep breath. She exhaled, reaching the end of her oxygen, and with mechanical precision she grabbed one of the guns and dry-loaded an empty magazine, cocking and double-clicking the trigger, repeating it and swapping to another empty magazine, eyes still closed and still whispering wordless phrases. She placed the gun down and took another breath, repeating it with the other gun exactly the same way left-handed, as if trying to shave off milliseconds or get to a specific aiming point without looking. She cycled the same movements and alternated for several minutes before finally opening her eyes, as the candle went out.

    ¡°Michael.¡± She whispered almost silently in the dark. ¡°Another angel rises.¡±

    Mike sat silently in bed, across the cabin and separated by several rooms. He heard the call and knew what to do. A dead stare burned in his eyes, reaching for a bottle next to the bed, cap already removed and partially empty. He leaned forward, grabbing the Army Ranger M4 in his lap, field stripping it and checking the parts for any dirt or debris, re-assembling it and loading the magazine as he walked to the window and peered through the scope, at something in the yard, no glow or lack of it. He placed his finger on the trigger and pulled it halfway before realizing the figure standing in the water was himself. He glanced down at his arm, skin darker than his, and he felt the cold weight of a watch on his wrist he never wore before. He peered back at himself in the yard, the rising scope, the other Mike shouldering his MPX as the 2 scopes met and aligned with a flash.

    He sat up in bed, checking his wrist and surroundings. Just a dream. The word ¡°Michael¡± still whispering in his ear. The ruffling sound of Nadja in the bed beside him rolling over to pull him back down to a laying position.

    ¡°You summoned?¡± he asked dryly.

    ¡°What a good listener you are. Did you see him again?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No, but he saw me. He¡¯s fast on the trigger. Maybe as fast as I am. That¡¯s the second time I¡¯ve had that dream. Is that you warning me, or just my paranoid mind creating nonsense from your hints?¡±

    ¡°mmm, who would know?¡± she moaned. ¡°Does he frighten you? The man with the watch and the M4?¡±

    ¡°No. I still got the shot off both times. I¡¯ve killed him twice already, I¡¯ll kill him a third time. The only thing that still truly frightens me, is you.¡± He admitted.

    ¡°Good.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°Tell me. What did Yuri get for his soul?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Nothing yet. He disappointed me. He¡¯s correcting mistakes, and if he is a good boy and obeys when I ask, he will get his passports and his immunity.¡± She shrugged.

    ¡°Do you really honor your deals, or are they just lies to control us? You¡¯re gonna kill him when he¡¯s done, when you¡¯re done with him. He knows things about you, you¡¯re not going to just let him go, are you?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Michael, my word is absolute, and it is the only guarantee I make. Deal is deal. If he breaks it, I break him. If you run, I will hunt Tanner. If you obey me, she will be safe from me. And as long as you stay by my side, she will never be harmed. Yuri¡¯s loved ones are just as safe as long as he obeys the deal as well. You will never fully trust me, so I will never fully trust you. You do this to yourself, over-thinking, worry about nothing when you are safer than anyone.¡± She said, rolling over on top of him and swinging her hand abruptly, Mike¡¯s hand catching the incoming knife to the throat and turning her wrist to point it back. ¡°See? Mister Black won¡¯t let anything hurt you, either. Slaying angels in your sleep and devils in your bed. How quick you are without that soul slowing you down anymore.¡± she whispered darkly.

 Chapter 6: Unholy Confessions

    Yuri sat with his feet up on a stump, smoking a cigar and watching the fishing pole do nothing. Footsteps approached him. He peered back and rolled his eyes to see Rowan making his way down to the stream, the old church in the background behind morning fog.

    ¡°Anything biting?¡± Rowan asked.

    ¡°Potentially me if you disturb my alone time. I had a rough night.¡± Yuri replied.

    ¡°Yes, I heard. It makes so much sense now, actually. I met Nadja once for a 2-second eye contact before she tried to shoot me, and for some reason I can¡¯t stop thinking about her. I don¡¯t know if I want to fuck her or kill her. How could any man work for her as long as you did, and not have some remaining loyalty? You never even attempted to make a move on Tanner, either. I should have predicted it. What was his name, Nicolai?¡± Rowan smiled as the click of a hammer drawing back got his attention. ¡°Relax, we¡¯re friends, I just spy on everyone, especially if I think they¡¯re defecting sides. Don¡¯t take it personally.¡±

    ¡°You will tell no one of Nicolai.¡± Yuri insisted. ¡°And we are not friends.¡±

    ¡°I''m mildly insulted. After all those chats, and working together, I see now we¡¯re not even competition as men with needs. I have no intentions of telling anyone your secret, that would surely get your lover killed, or at the least prevent you from going home. That would be stupid of me to anger you and have no means of leverage to keep you from killing me. Ah, except that I have of course written it down in detail, on a phone with a password encryption. If I were to just go missing, a colleague of mine with the password might simply¡­ post it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re bluffing. You are not computer wizard.¡±

    ¡°I have many skills actually, most that you don¡¯t know and never will, so it really comes down to how well you play poker and are willing to bet that I¡¯m bluffing. Now since we¡¯re friends and friends keep secrets and do each other favors, if you were to do me some favors, that wouldn¡¯t make us friends. Why on earth would I be inclined to ruin your life, that would make us enemies. Neither of us wants that. Friends are so much more valuable.¡± Rowan grinned.

    ¡°What favor do you want, someone killed you don¡¯t have the balls to kill yourself?¡± Yuri breathed angrily.

    ¡°No, nothing so sinister. I do seem to be running low in my personal refrigerator. I don¡¯t exactly have access to the morgue anymore, and I would truly hate to resort to murder for my addiction. You, on the other hand, have connections you won¡¯t tell anyone about, surely you could find bodies freshly dead, simply break into or buy into somewhere that has them. I bet you even have disposal sites.¡±

    ¡°You want dead bodies.¡± Yuri cringed.

    ¡°Even just parts would be fine, they have to be cut up and stored regardless. Preferably female, early to late 30s would be sublime. I would of course pay you well for the service, I¡¯m not trying to con you, just encourage a service I can¡¯t get elsewhere. The others find my little culinary escapades rather revolting, which seems hypocritical of people willing to slash a live human to pieces for fun, or principal, or whatever. But somehow they seem to still be squeamish and stingy with who they kill on the side, and how you dispose of them.¡±

    ¡°And you think I don¡¯t find you revolting?¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°Let¡¯s be honest friends here, I don¡¯t give a shit if you do. But you¡¯re a man who gets things done, and I have leverage. I have nothing on Alexander or Tanner, and they are both rather incompetent hunters.¡± Rowan sighed.

    ¡°Says the man who cannot hunt at all.¡±

    ¡°I never said I was a hunter, hence my dilemma, I¡¯m not a killer, my connections have been compromised, and all I have is a lot of money and information you want quiet. I like bodies. Don¡¯t you like money and silence? You have your needs, I have mine.¡±

    ¡°Understand. If you speak a word of this, your leverage is gone and, as you say, I am killer and you are not. We are not friends, we are just making deal, and if you don¡¯t honor this deal, I will dispose of your body as well, understood?¡± Yuri asked coldly.

    ¡°Very clearly.¡± He said holding out a hand to shake, and being left hanging.

    ¡°Then I will provide you your¡­treats, and you will silently pay me.¡± He said decocking the 9mm up where he could see it. Rowan made his way back to the church as Yuri picked up his phone and peered holes in his back, imagining where the bullets might go. ¡°Yes Nadja. I¡¯m sorry to bother, but I would like to take more initiative, and an opportunity has come up to learn more information. I would like to volunteer for cleanup and body disposal. Perfect. That will give us time to discuss details in person, while Mike is away.¡± He said

    The oddly cult-like room of a completely unrelated church filled with candles and pews and golden shrines, echoed with the footsteps of a few people, and Mike strolling in the front door to find a spot to pray, until the place cleared out better. He locked the door as he made his way to the confession booth. He sat in the ironically public side of it, as the priest awaited his confession.

    ¡°Bless me father for I have been sinning¡­extensively.¡± He said, almost cracking a smirk.

    ¡°We all sin, and many think what they have done is unforgivable.¡±

    ¡°Oh I¡¯m, confident mine is, actually.¡± He said, slashing a knife through the divider and pointing Rachel and a suppressor through the opening. ¡°I¡¯ve killed a lot of people and sold my soul to the devil, and I¡¯m not proud to admit she¡¯s the best lay I¡¯ve ever had. I¡¯m not sure what kind of monster that makes me, but it¡¯s the kind that can see in the dark and doesn¡¯t plan to stop killing. I intend to kill at least, 3 or 4 more people, minimum, probably far more as things go. I¡¯m not here for forgiveness.¡± He sighed as the priest breathed heavily, hands up in surrender pose.

    ¡°Then what do you want?¡±

    ¡°Information. That¡¯s all. The truth will release you, and lies will get you tortured, so it¡¯s really up to you how we do this. I can torture you to death or just¡­release you.¡± Mike said softly, calm and oddly at peace.

    ¡°I¡¯m just a local priest, I don¡¯t know anything you would want that you couldn¡¯t find yourself, through prayer.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the kind of answer that gets you killed when you don¡¯t know the question yet. I¡¯m not expecting miracles, just hoping. You won¡¯t be punished for not knowing, you will absolutely be dismembered for not being honest. No matter what the answer, I will forgive the truth and punish lies. So let¡¯s begin this. Have you ever violated a child?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Of course not. I know the reputation, but I assure you it¡¯s a minority group I have nothing to do with.¡±

    ¡°Shame. If you said yes or lied, I was going to cut you up for fun. I''m craving it. But you¡¯re telling the truth. Now, this one is a little tricky. Do you believe in demons? Not as a metaphor for struggles and sins, but literal beings that can consciously stalk and possess someone.¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°You sound skeptical, but yes, I do.¡± The priest nervously nodded.

    ¡°Good, if you said no I¡¯d have to start all over somewhere else. And I promise I¡¯m not skeptical. I wasn¡¯t joking when I said I was fucking one. My question is¡­how do you kill one?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know that they can be killed, necessarily. Banished, exercised from someone, but I¡¯ve never heard of one dying. It tends to be an ongoing battle of willpower. Do you believe you are possessed and in need of cleansing?¡±

    ¡°No, mine¡¯s actually necessary in this fight, we¡¯re in agreement on that. My demon is fine where he is. But we¡¯re not even strong enough together to fight whatever SHE is. I don¡¯t need an exorcism, I need a rapid lethal option. Blade or bullet would be very preferable. Is there a ritual, a prayer, a way to bless something or use something sacred. I¡¯m very open-minded to this and if successful, the Mister Black killing stops, so if she dies, nobody else has to. You know who I am. Good chance to save a lot of people right now, Padre.¡± He whispered.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°My son, you are very lost and broken, but there is always hope. If you turn yourself in and stop killing, the laws of man will not forgive you, but God always can. Your soul is never truly lost if you have one remaining breath to confess.¡±

    ¡°God¡¯s in the parking lot, and the thing in me that kills, is the best hope we have here against the thing I¡¯m fighting. There¡¯s no metaphor, just a living, breathing thing I have killed several times now that doesn¡¯t stay dead. She actually enjoys it, because it shows how powerless I really am. Darkens me further. The man who can kill anyone can¡¯t keep her dead. I¡¯ve shot her, bled her from the throat, cut her heart out. Brute force isn¡¯t working, I need outside the box ideas. How do I kill a demon?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know the answers you seek.¡± The priest nervously admitted.

    ¡°Try an honest best guess. In your truthful opinion, what would be the best option for killing something unholy that comes back from shit that kills people¡­and I would know what kills people. It¡¯s very easy to do. They never get back up. She does.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ A silver cross of importance, something blessed by a pope, burning the demon, piercing the heart with something pure and sacred?¡± he desperately said as Mike opened the door and pulled him out at gunpoint.

    ¡°That¡¯s a start. What is the most sacred shit you have in this place?¡± Mike asked.

    "There¡¯s an old bible in the upstairs office, said to be 400 years old, in a glass case. This cross I wear is solid silver, it was my father''s that he carried his whole life, that he gave me when he died. Take it. There¡¯s holy water for blessings, take your pick, please.¡±

    ¡°All of them, I¡¯ll also need a small sample of your blood. It won¡¯t be painful. Take this.¡± He said, handing him one of the recluse revolvers.

    ¡°A gun?¡± the priest asked, nervously taking it.

    ¡°Unloaded, obviously. Bless that and me, whatever you believe is the best thing you could do to make both of us more deadly to something evil.¡± He said, getting down on his knees and assuming the prayer position. The priest dipped the gun into the holy water and with a look of disbelief and hesitation, he crossed Mike with anointing oil. And placed the gun in his praying hands.

    ¡°Oh Lord, this man is fighting a battle I cannot understand, bless his new path and let him vanquish only evil, purge the doubt and the sin from his soul and let his aim be true, and only to the heart of the devil. Help him see the light and return to it, and let him kill the darkness and kill no more innocent lives. Bless this gun.¡± He said, cringing at the phrase. ¡°And let it be a weapon to destroy the devil and his power, and nothing else. Allow his killing to end with one last bullet, and let it be a round to the spirit of sin, and not the mortal flesh, Amen.¡± He said, hoping he did it correctly, whatever it was he was doing with a feeling of true coldness.¡±

    ¡°You did your best, let¡¯s hope that is enough. I got a few more places to try that with, overlap your options, you know. You will never see me again; I will be gone as soon as I gather a few things. Do you honestly believe you have done everything you can or know to try, to vanquish evil here tonight?¡± Mike asked, looking up.

    ¡°I believe so. I don¡¯t understand what you fight, but I have done my best, and you should seek further help, my son. You are broken, but not beyond fixing. I don¡¯t know what it will take, but everyone can be saved if they press on and believe.¡± He said.

    ¡°Thank you for your honesty, one last question before I release you and gather what I need. If I let you go after this, can I trust that you will, you forget who I am and what I look like, and never speak of this to anyone?¡± Mike asked, peering up into his eyes from down on one knee.

    ¡°Yes.¡± He replied, his dim glow in the dark slowly brightening as his heartbeat accelerated with fear.

    ¡°That¡¯s the first lie you¡¯ve told me tonight. And here we were doing so well.¡± Mike sighed, grabbing the necklace and pulling him down to the suppressor, the puff of wet bone and smoke splattering upwards as it reached his chin and Mike stood up, taking out a small plastic vodka bottle to catch some of the dripping blood.

    ¡°I release you¡­painlessly.¡± He said coldly, making a cross on the man¡¯s forehead in his own blood and bowing respectfully, stretching and heading for the stairs.

    A large American flag draped for the backdrop, as the webcam began recording. Gabe strutted into view in full body armor, Colt M4 in his hands, and the Desert Camo punisher mask with the patriot lenses in front.

    ¡°My fellow Americans, you have been threatened and attacked on American soil. Your rights and freedom spat upon by a terrorist and heretic insulting God and country, and the police are doing nothing to stop it. A Democracy is a sacred thing we hold dear, the right for every citizen, man or woman of any color to stand up and be heard, and choose what freedom is to us. This Mister Black wants you to be afraid. Afraid to leave your homes, afraid to vote, afraid to protest or speak out, to have your basic freedoms and live your lives in safety, and that control ends now. I have a message for the citizens of this country. We WILL vote, we WILL fight back, we WILL bare arms and defend our home against any threat, and leading the opposition will be some of the best men for the job. Patriots, heroes, men not afraid to lose their lives or take one, and we will be the law enforcement now. This is a temporary movement with permanent impacts. A counter-terror uprising that will last as long as the terrorists do, and dissolve when the threat is gone, so you are safe. But make no mistake, if another rises in place, we will rise again to match them.

    We are here to uphold the American way until the laws can, and the corruption backs down, nothing more nothing less. We will not negotiate, we will not take innocent lives, No collateral death is acceptable. We will not force any citizen to bow or push our beliefs, because our beliefs are simple, and your beliefs too. Freedom, family, justice. The group of domestic terrorists are the only ones who should fear leaving their homes, because they will meet us on OUR terms, and there is no surrender, no apprehension, no trial, no bail, no lawyers. The only good terrorist is a dead one, and we intend to leave only those behind. The Archangels counter-terror organization is effective immediately, and we demand blood for blood.¡± He said as the Archangel banner lowered behind him and 7 other men in similar outfits, armed with ARs, shotguns and a belt-fed machine gun, all filed into a line. Gabe picked up a paper flag with the Red and Black symbol, and lit it on fire, holding it and stepping closer.

    ¡°And I have a message for you, Mister Black. Two can play the game of intimidation and gunfire. How dare you display a cross, while slaughtering citizens and outspoken people, how dare you stand on the ground of this country that men have fought and died to protect, and call its people to rise up and cause anarchy. For that you will meet true divine punishment and justice. You wanted the streets to run red and the end of days, you have it. It¡¯s coming for you, and the streets will run with your blood, and the end of your days is drawing near. You have one chance to turn yourself in and face the justice system, or the new justice system will hunt you down and we will not aim to incapacitate, we will not use non-lethal force or accept surrender. 24 hours. After that, we will not give you a trial and representation. We will give you a flood of lead and American pride, and leave the body for the police, so that they can do at least part of their job. You wanna fight something? Fight us. You want blood, we¡¯re full of it in red white and blue, come and get it. You want American lives, man the fuck up and fight someone your own size, find us, or we¡¯ll find you. You want a war, you have it. Fight a soldier, you cowardly piece of shit.¡± Gabe finished,

    President DuPont threw a newspaper violently at the TV screen, President Ivanova laughing at the childish rage.

    ¡°What the red white and fuck is this? Are you playing with me?¡±

    ¡°William, calm down. Is silly militia group playing soldiers. They are not mine, they are a convenient accident. Probably tired of playing call of Honor 3 online, so they bought some army surplus gear and superstore decals. They are a joke.¡± Ivanova chuckled.

    ¡°I¡¯m the joke. Have you seen social media? Half the people are rooting for Mister Black and Nadja, screaming ANARCHY from the roofs. The graffiti is worse, now people are saying I authorized a vigilante group to defend myself against the threat. I¡¯m trying to make this country look good, and make myself look re-electable, now these assholes are riling people up to vote and acting like they support me? What¡¯s that going to do? It¡¯s going to make me look the kind of president that can¡¯t take down the terrorists and farms it out to yocals in camo, OR it makes it all look like a setup to fluff my campaign. I don¡¯t want people voting, because if they all lean towards voting Bloomberg, because they think I¡¯m a joke, and he gets shot, and I survive and win the election, then it really looks like I planned this.¡± DuPont Huffed.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t.¡± President Ivanova chuckled. ¡°It won¡¯t matter, we both get what we want and you get re elected. Who cares what people think now? Do what you want for 4 more years; enjoy the wealth, the protection, the deal. The plan is to start a war, if it starts on your soil first, it is no different. You will represent America, I will say I will never back down; you intimidate and take action, and win. I back down. Russian media will show it as mercy and kindness, your media will show you as the victor, a hero, nobody will care about anything before this. Just be glad both sides are fighting for YOU, even if one is pretending to hunt you. You can¡¯t even act brave when your own people rise up to support you when you know the villains are only putting on public show, and planning to kill your enemy. This is perfect. We get people in gold skulls and flags to show up to the debate, and when Bloomberg is shot, they will reveal themselves and declare victory. The real terrorists were Archangels the whole time. Radicals. Just go on public record, make speeches about how these vigilante groups are all the same and all breaking the laws. We can have some men arrested now and then, with both flags, to confuse and frighten the media. DuPont does not condone terrorism or vigilante justice, the broken system Bloomberg built is being fixed, and you will not tolerate more bloodshed on American soil. Save face, lie like you do already.¡± He shrugged.

 Chapter 7: Parts in a Trunk

    Mike strolled to the murder cabin, carrying a far lighter load than he had leaving confession. There was a confident stroll in his step and a peace to his breathing, as he saw Yuri loading a plastic bag into his trunk, with a few more already inside.

    ¡°Yuri the garbage man¡­still obedient as usual?¡± he nodded.

    ¡°Taking initiative and earning my rewards.¡± Yuri shrugged.

    ¡°I see. Dispose of it with care, and here. Give this to Tanner when you see her.¡± Mike said, tossing him some rosary beads. ¡°Tell some shit about good luck and blessings and where you got it. It¡¯s probably bullshit, but you never know. Just make sure she wears it, just in case it means anything at all. Obviously make up any story except: Mike killed a priest and gave it to me while disposing of a body for Nadja.¡±

    ¡°You still love her, yet you do what you do with that THING.¡± He said, looking back at the cabin.

    ¡°It probably means nothing more than superstition, but I would do anything to protect Tanner¡­anything.¡± He said in a slightly threatening manner. ¡°So just remember that when you give it to her. There¡¯s more than one monster to fear the wrath of for betrayal, and God forbid you ever have to choose.¡± Mike snarled.

    ¡°From the man feeding the devil. How much irony. Better to take out the trash for the devil than sleep in its bed.¡± Yuri sighed.

    ¡°Bold, but fair. Everyone makes sacrifices. Make sure they¡¯re worth it.¡± he said, passing him by and entering the workshop through the side door, as Nadja sat in a silk robe drinking what may have been red wine or mostly red wine.

    ¡°Having fun without me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware I was a prisoner, at least not in every sense.¡± Mike smirked.

    ¡°And where do you go that I cannot follow and assisst?¡± she asked with a strong hiss, and a sip of something red.

    ¡°No point lying to you when you can tell. You can be a bit stifling, and sometimes I need to be alone to center myself and find peace. I went to church.¡±

    ¡°Adorable. Trying to find your God¡¯s voice again so I would simply disappear.¡±

    ¡°Honestly, I¡¯d miss you a little even if I believed praying you away was a possibility.¡± He said, placing the bloody Rachel on the table and a vial of blood, in a different brand of vodka bottle than before, the first one still missing.

    ¡°Interesting things to take to church.¡± She giggled.

    ¡°I brought Rachel, this blood I brought as a souvenir. There¡¯s no denying we both love killing, but we have very different styles and I needed to test something. I needed to hear from my voice one more time and I needed to kill MY way, the way I used to when I listened to it. You might be pleased to hear what it said.¡± He smiled as she sniffed the gun for freshly fired magnesium and human blood.

    ¡°A little nostalgic solo satisfaction? And what did the voice say?¡± she asked.

    ¡°That I¡¯m not done killing yet. That I need to kill a president for you, and that my soul is far too gone to save. Not what I hoped for, but very fucking clear.¡±

    ¡°So you finally understand the voice of your god is both telling the truth and just your own voice? You needed to test that out?¡± she giggled. ¡°Mike, you are a very stubborn creature but predictable.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say what I believe the voice is, and I don¡¯t fully know what to believe, but I trust it, and it said to kill. I wanted to kill tonight, alone, with Rachel, quiet and quick, painless and efficient, just like I always did. There¡¯s a peace to it, something that the slashing and screaming doesn¡¯t quite satisfy. So I killed a priest, found that balance again, accepted what I can and can¡¯t control and accepted my place. I don¡¯t have to like it, but I am apparently just made for something specific, and it¡¯s what I do best.¡± He said, unscrewing the cap and pouring the priest''s blood into her wine glass. ¡°Consider that a symbol of faith, a gift. Something to show where my loyalty lies.¡± He said, staring into her cold eyes and not uttering a lie beneath his ulterior motives, waiting for her to take a drink. She playfully gave it a stir with her finger and sat the glass down. He paused, waiting to see if holy blood burned her throat or not.

    ¡°Not everything gets better with age, some things go stale and putrid when left out too long, but I appreciate the gesture. Just let me know next time you need, alone time. I don¡¯t like turning my back and finding you missing.¡± She said darkly. Leaving the glass as she sashayed off and left him to his workshop. He picked up the glass and gave it a smell, wondering if it would burn him and his blackened heart now.

    ¡°Wasting good alcohol? Now, that¡¯s not like you.¡± He smirked, turning to his projects and scrolling the screen on the CNC machine, stopping and clicking a file called Azazel. He tipped back the glass like a shot and swallowed it, pressing the go button on the screen and getting comfortable in his chair. ¡°Damn that¡¯s good. Very expensive vintage to leave behind¡­unless you can''t stomach it.¡± He sighed to himself, feeling the slight warmth of a silent victory.

    Tanner peered up from the couch as Yuri strolled in, Alexander loosening his hug on her shoulder so she could turn better, smiling, peering over his glasses.

    ¡°Yuri, my foreign comrade. Have a drink with us. We have acquired a spread of the finest charcuterie and cheese the local deli had to part with, for the price we could manage. It¡¯s divinely tolerable.¡± He chuckled. ¡°You appear glum, have you lost a pet recently I was not aware of?¡± Alexander said in a slightly tipsy manner.

    ¡°Honey, he¡¯s going through some personal shit.¡± Tanner muttered. ¡°He¡¯s not the kind to talk about his feelings, maybe you could go tinker for a while?¡± she cringed.

    ¡°No.¡± Yuri said. ¡°I prefer Alexander¡¯s company, actually. Matters of men. And yes I am in bad mood. I had to socialize with fucking Rowan.¡±

    ¡°Man, he really just does piss off literally everyone ever, doesn¡¯t he?¡± Tanner sighed, getting up.

    ¡°You have no idea.¡± Yuri groaned, ¡°Sorry to interrupt television time with boyfriend.¡± He said, plopping down as Tanner made left for privacy. Yuri sat silently, he counted footsteps and waited.

    ¡°Are we¡­socializing?¡± Alexander asked. ¡°Wasn¡¯t aware we did that, let alone silently.¡±

    ¡°Conversation best kept from loved ones. I assume you know she cares for you, but still cares for the preacher, yes?¡± Yuri asked. Alexander smiled and sighed, fluffing his hair and looking annoyed by the reminder.

    ¡°Why no, it has not once crossed my mind or kept me up at night feeling like a runner-up who has won on technicality. I stand here with a gold metal, because Mike slept in the day of the contest. Hooray for me. I shall never be replaced or forgotten for my victory.¡± Alexander sarcasmed gloriously.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Then you also see problem. Mike is too far gone to be there for her. You are not second best, you are winner because Mike has stopped being Mike. She just does not believe it. This will get her killed, or us killed. He would break her heart. Her idea of taking him in alive to be helped, is foolish little girl¡¯s dream and the humane thing would be to just kill him. To protect her and you both. If she knew, she would hate you, but she would be safer, and she is better off with anyone than Mike, especially you. Nadja and I have history, none of it good, but if anyone robs me of killing her I might have to become violent to them. I deserve this. You deserve Tanner, Tanner deserves to be safe and happy, even if done with lies. So¡­my proposal. I supply you with guns, you do not ask where the money comes from, and when I ask favor of you, you go with me without question.¡± Yuri shrugged.

    ¡°You wish to go kill them both, without her. Without her knowing, without her stopping us, and without her getting hurt trying to assist in taking alive, the animal that cannot be caged or tamed. Why have you not simply spoken up sooner?¡± Alexander chuckled.

    ¡°I was not sure of your opinion.¡± Yuri admitted.

    ¡°My opinion is simple, Tanner is a beautiful and charming fool in love with a dream. A perfect wonder of everything I love, but too in love with what amounts to Mike¡¯s magicians tricks, to see the trap doors behind the curtain. I would rather have her hate me for finding out, than dead for trying to tame a creature untamable and dangerous. You can have Nadja, I¡¯ll have my priestly safari hunt. If you can supply the weapons and make me look like a competent weaponry provider, then I shall owe you gratitude and not question your methods. In fact, if you need an alibi for anything, I will vouch for it.¡±

    ¡°Good. Then we understand. Now, unfortunately, I need you to vouch right now. If asked, you sent me to get ammunition and I agreed. I have to go be social with Rowan¡­which I wish was simply getting ammunition.¡±

    ¡°It would be a shame if he went missing, especially if your location was vouched for and mine was here. I will say nothing further on that.¡± Alexander sighed.

    ¡°We don¡¯t need to. He has a way of¡­tempting his fate.¡± Yuri nodded.

    ¡°So here we are, mutinous men pretending to follow a leader and leading our own master plans. What else would one expect of a group of killers brought together by a madman now dead, and grand delusions still alive. Enjoy your escapades, my friend. Do bring me a lot of very difficult to find ammunition. I was VERY specific on my demands, after all. Armor piercing rounds, Preacher-killers if they make those.¡± Alexander smiled, kicking back as Yuri shuffled off.

    The trunk lifted up, Rowan and Yuri staring down at something from bird¡¯s eyes view, as Yuri moved the tarp and Rowan smiled like a kid on Christmas.

    ¡°Oh goodie. She is a very nice find. Freshness is something you can¡¯t always find with these sorts of deals.¡± Rowan chuckled maniacally.

    ¡°You wanted attractive dead girl. I brought attractive dead girl.¡± Yuri shrugged.

    ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t do the butchery yourself. If you did, I would love for you to stop and bring me the next one as intact as possible.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to know why, but I make no promises. This is difficult to get as it is. I did not kill girl, I retrieved.¡±

    ¡°No, I appreciate the find, my reason for preferring a whole body is not as demented as you assume. I just prefer to do my own butchery my own way. These cuts are not exactly made by a skilled culinary expert, more like a¡­ skilled sadist. I cut for efficient meat removal, this was done to inflict suffering. She seems to be missing the head and heart, very interesting.¡± Rowan noted.

    ¡°After I arrived, there was no head, I assure you it was attractive before that. I saw photo I.D. What does it matter?¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t take the I.D. by chance?¡± he asked strangely.

    ¡°You asked for body, not driver¡¯s license. She was nobody, dead when I got there, volunteer disposal service for old favors."

    ¡°Just a shame. I do love to see who I¡¯m sampling beforehand. Call it a quirk. Well, if you¡¯ll help me move the body into the van, your services are no longer needed. Your secret is safe for now, and this should last me some time.¡± Rowan smiled as they loaded both halves of Sage Ember into the refrigerated van Rowan had ready for butchery. He shut the door and began his careful work, trying to decide where to start and how to best work around the numerous slashes already in the meat, trying not to feel disappointed at the work done for him, and poorly. The missing heart was a sad little detail, altering his recipe plans.

    ¡°And who were you, dear? A college student with a gambling debt? A cheating wife with an angry husband, a jogger, simply in the wrong place on the wrong night?¡± He said admiring the fitness and quality of the pieces as he stopped to stare. His eyes diverted to her left foot and the subtle purple flower tattoo Yuri had either missed or didn¡¯t care about.

    ¡°Oh surely not.¡± Rowan pondered, lifting the foot and inspecting the tattoo closer, rolling his chair to the laptop in the corner and Googling something, a butcher¡¯s marker in his teeth and a look of confusion in his eyes as images of the popstar scrolled down the screen, and he looked for an ankle shot. He rolled over and compared the marks, the general physique, and the skin tone, knowing the level of yellow paleness to expect post-mortem.

    ¡°Yuri, did you just bring me a dead starlet that was murdered by our dear friends Mike and Nadja? Now how would you conveniently know where to find that body?¡± he asked aloud. ¡°Oh, you make this so fun and easy to leverage you, you big dumb Slavic delivery boy. But what a treat you have brought me regardless.¡± He smiled, unrolling his cleaned knives and butcher¡¯s paper. ¡°I¡¯m actually a huge fan.¡± He grinned.

    A man in the back of a gun store beamed with pride as he dialed up a number and waited. ¡°Is this Gabe? Yea, I got the code word motherfucker. Ezekiel, That¡¯s it, just checkin. Oh, buddy you¡¯ll wanna hear this. I just had a guy with a Russian accent and a fake ID buy a bunch of guns and gear, illegal, paid in cash, custom ammo, and get this¡­2 Russian submachine guns. Yea, of course I sold them, I had to make the deal look real. I didn¡¯t bust the guy because I¡¯m not a cop or a guy with a death wish. Just listen to this¡­ What I did do, is run his fake ID through a friend of mine, and got a hit to a credit card he¡¯s been using off a brand-new bank account, and 3 weeks ago he bought 4 burner phones. I got guys monitoring the sim-card numbers. I told this guy to buy guns in cash he needed a phone number, stupid fucker gave it. Any of those burner phone call that number, we can trace the call. Gabe, you got this Mister Black son of a bitch.¡±

    Alexander puffed a cigarette to the sound of nu-metal and Yuri¡¯s car returning from his trip. Teeth clenched to keep his blunt from falling, he lifted the garage door and smiled as Yuri brought 4 black cases to the table.

    ¡°Did you really bestow me the blessing of an obscene amount of ammunition?¡± he asked.

    ¡°You wanted to impress Tanner, but you struggle getting illegal guns and accessories. I do you the favor. Everything on the list, full auto and bonus.¡± Yuri smirked.

    ¡°Would the bonus, pray tell, be the tragic news of Rowan leaving us to join the traveling sideshow cannibals never to return?¡± Alexander grinned.

    ¡°No, sadly he will be returning, but he will be returning late and distracted. I left him gifts as well. No¡­ leave music playing.¡±

    ¡°Man of tastes too? Fantastic band, are they not?¡± Alexander said, basking in the aggression.

    ¡°No, it just is loud and nobody can hear us. You said you have experience with FN SCAR knockoff?¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°Yes, I fondly admired the design and feel of it. I was owed money by a man who had none, and as a young fool, I was convinced the knockoff was real. My thinking that I was gaining a thousand dollars, became my horror that I lost nearly as much in counterfeit. I considered killing him for it, but my only rifle was the knockoff one I now had. So train I did, and by the time I had felt confident enough to use that instrument for vengeance, I found myself rather nostalgic and enjoying it. Please oh please, Russian Santa Claus, tell me you have now blessed me with the genuine S-CAR of legend.¡± Alex tingled, touching his fingertips with excitement.

    ¡°No. I got knockoff, CZ Bren 2. Same S-CAR quality, but lower price, still upgrade.¡± He shrugged, revealing the case.

    ¡°Oh now that is delightful. And so many goodie boxes of little add-ons. Are we hunting preachers tonight?¡± he grinned.

    ¡°Hunting soon, but not tonight. I am working angle on anonymous tip that may come in handy. So if I call you and say that we need range practice, bring your gun and hunting gear.¡± Yuri nodded.

    ¡°Many years since I¡¯ve killed a man. It was over a woman as well, so at least my consistency is incredible¡­similar gun even. How ironic. If only the poetry of youthful motives and sheer luck were with me still. But the hand remembers the gun you favor, does it not?¡± he sighed nostalgically, shouldering the black and tan rifle.

    ¡°That one is mine. You get dark one. They only had 3 for sale, and one was long range, different caliber. Too expensive.¡±

    ¡°Well we certainly don¡¯t wish to be striking Archangel Michael from a distance requiring a raged kit. That¡¯s where he hunts best. Why is yours designated as the one decorated in tan, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Identical guns, but you will be closer and easier to spot. So you get... sort of camo. I also just like tan. Be ready tomorrow for practice. I want you useful and sharp, not assuming the hand remembers how to kill. The hand forgets what it does not repeat. Here is your ammo. They were out of preacher killers, but I think armor piercing military grade is fine. And here is Tanner¡¯s accessories. Have a busy night tinkering. If you need me, I will be drinking alone in my room.¡±

    ¡°I can handle this task all on my own. Thank you greatly, and drink well.¡± Alexander toasted, almost drooling over the cases. ¡°Let the tinkering and drinkering begin.¡± he smiled, cranking the music.

 Chapter 8: Tandem

    Mike splashed cold water on his face from the sink, looking oddly pleased with himself as he washed away the blood from his chest and arms. The dripping of blood from the electric chainsaw on the table behind him, in the quiet, formed an almost¡­ countdown of sorts in his head. He passed the seconds as he lit a cigarette and played some smooth blues on the MP3 player, curious to see how long she would stay dead this time. Like clockwork, at almost the 11-minute mark, he heard footsteps and then felt hands around him chest.

    ¡°Six hundred and sixty-six seconds¡­ fitting.¡± Mike chuckled, more upbeat than usual after killing Nadja, fixing a quick sandwich.

    ¡°What¡¯s this? No moping, no guilt, no regret, just Mike having a snack? You seem to be having fun tonight. Are we starting to enjoy our work, Mister Black?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t deny it this time. That was satisfying as hell.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°I told you, I can be anyone you want, whatever you want. I know you Michael, you don¡¯t just want to kill, you want to take your time and be vicious with it, and it¡¯s as much fun for me as it is for you, but I have never seen you want to kill someone so badly. That predictable little hint of regret after our playtime where you feel bad about it. Why is it that when you worry that you¡¯ve killed your favorite plaything, even for a moment of doubt, it breaks your heart, but this time you showed no mercy or regret? Have you accepted that you can¡¯t get rid of me, or do you no longer care if you kill me¡­permanently?¡±

    ¡°Catherine.¡± He said.

    ¡°The woman on the screen you showed me? Was she the one that got away? Michael finally got his revenge from an old heartbreak?¡± she asked coyly.

    ¡°Not exactly. You said you could be anyone I wanted, I wanted her tonight. Always found her fairly attractive, always wanted to give that a try, but never found the chance. She was too high of a risk. Another killer, too well-connected, too careful. But the day she took Tanner from me, I never wanted to kill anyone so badly in my life, slowly and Viciously.¡± He smirked.

    ¡°Da, I know. I experienced it. It was some of your finest work. You truly hated her.¡± She chuckled. ¡°You hate me, and you still cried over killing me the first time, not knowing I''d return to you. All I have to do is look like Catherine, and you suddenly feel nothing but sadistic satisfaction in slaughtering. Even now, you practically beam with joy remembering her face as you made each cut. You don¡¯t even truly hate me, but you truly hate her.¡±

    ¡°Tanner means that much to me, and fucking Carl got the kill shot. Damnit. That lucky son of a bitch. I regret not taking that myself.¡±

    ¡°Well, you can now, in a certain manner. Slowly, creatively. Letting your darkness grow and become stronger. Feed Misster Black.¡± She hissed.

    ¡°It¡¯s not quite the same. It¡¯s not real. It¡¯s an illusion. You¡¯re a copy playing along, pretending to suffer and making it fun, but she¡¯s already dead and Carl sent her to hell. Maybe when I get there I can drop by and see her. Do they let you torture each other in hell? For all the work I¡¯m doing for you, I¡¯d sure like some string pulled. Torture the real Catherine. Hell might not be so bad.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°I love the way your mind works when it is at its darkest. You must tell me all about the people you hate the most. The ones that pull your heart to murder.¡±

    ¡°Sadly, aside from you and her, the people I hated the most and wanted to kill the most, just weren¡¯t all that attractive. If one day you look like Carl on my St Andrew¡¯s cross, I¡¯ll still gladly kill you and enjoy it, but it will be quick and clothed, and void of the sexual energy of tonight¡¯s romp. You¡¯ll find it very disappointing. Truthfully, part of me just wants to see Nadja up there. Just you. Tell me something. Was Nadja ever just a person? Some pretty Russian girl with a soul, or is this just the way evil looks and I have a strange preference for it?¡±

    ¡°Must you know all the answers and spoil the mystery? Does it matter? Are we having less fun never knowing?¡± she toyed.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s better I don¡¯t know. Just tell me there¡¯s not some sacred human soul in there way down, a poor Russian girl left to experience this nightmare from the back seat. Like there¡¯s a little preacher down in here left to feel guilt. That¡¯s what makes me feel guilt torturing you, wondering if I¡¯m torturing the original Nadja too, a little sliver of consciousness buried under that thing you are.¡±

    ¡°That is called paranoia. That will fade with time, Michael. The soul doesn¡¯t die quickly, but it does soon enough. Look into my eyes. I can see that little light way down there flickering. That little echo of soul hanging on so stubbornly. Look into mine. I assure you, there is no light, no soul looking back with fear when it sees you. That guilt is the illusion.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re probably right. I hope so, but I can never quite trust your assurances.¡±

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± she asked as he got up and got dressed.

    ¡°Going for a ride on the bike, I need to look up an old friend. Clear my head.¡± He bluffed.

    ¡°If I didn¡¯t know any better, Michael, I¡¯d swear you¡¯re procrastinating the mission. Stalling.¡± She whispered.

    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to trust you with my soul, but you don¡¯t trust me when I say this is vital for the mission? You want me to kill a former president, during a debate on live TV, from a distance, and you think I¡¯m planning to use a plastic revolver? I need a gun you can¡¯t buy, and ammo they don¡¯t sell. I¡¯m doing a lot of favors for this, don¡¯t tell me I¡¯m slacking off and avoiding it. If you have a problem with how I kill, maybe you should have found another killer, or do the job yourself.¡± He said, storming out. He passed Yuri on the way from the garage to the driveway, exchanging curious looks.

    ¡°Summoned?¡± he asked Yuri with an attitude.

    ¡°You know how that is with her. Staying on her good graces. It seems like we keep meeting in passing after your bad side is done getting on her good side. Making messes for me to clean¡± He said coldly as Mike drove away without a response. He strolled up to the cabin door as Nadja stood waiting.

    ¡°You get here very quickly.¡± She smirked. ¡°Is freshness really so important?¡±

    ¡°Rowan will take what I give, WHEN I give. My promptness is my obedience to you alone. I have considered just killing him, but then¡­¡± he stammered.

    ¡°Disposing of a body would be more difficult, and we would have nobody storing evidence in freezers. Rowan has no idea he¡¯s collecting his own conviction case or execution, if the group finds out. Very clever. You scratch my back, clean for me, earn your place when this is done, and make up for disappointing me. And in return, the cannibal sets himself up for the fall if the bodies are found. Will you tip him off to the police or to the little killer¡¯s club?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°When you are done giving me bodies to dispose of, I will have no reason for him to keep my secret and no reason not to just¡­tell the group, show them the stash, kill Rowan myself. Eliminate the threat, prove my loyalty to them.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°Why do you care? This is temporary. When former president Bloomberg is dead, you will get your passports and your immunity, and go back to your boyfriend, enough money to retire on little farm land. Why do you care if they accept you?¡± she asked.

    ¡°They are not all enemies. Tanner is nice girl. I like her. Alexander is stupid, but we get along. Am I not allowed to be accepted and enjoy my work?¡± he asked.

    ¡°As long as you remember who you work for. You have a body to move. You will need multiple buckets.¡± She nodded.

    Mike¡¯s Kawasaki leaned beside the rear entrance of a brick building, out of sight and in the darkness.

    The old Catholic Church, where the priest was killed, still covered in police tape and stained red in various places, glowed with the light of 143 candles. One burned for every life Mike took represented as a sin to be forgiven, whether they deserved it or not. One very special red candle from the office with dust cleaned off of it sat in the middle of the altar, as Mike kneeled down on one knee as if praying.

    He meticulously carved the ceremonial wax candle, under the magnifying lens with a dental scraper. The shape of a strange bullet began to take form, carved from rim to projectile with 2 intricate crosses on either side, the primer face carved with the Russian tree of life and 3 notches of the trinity. He whispered incoherent prayers as he checked the symbols for perfection, a 3mm wide rod extending from the tip for the mold pouring spout.

    Flattening it with the heat of another burning candle, he pressed it into the offering box¡¯s red felt bottom and began to mix the casting plaster. He carefully stacked 29 pieces of silver in the form of coins around the bottom, before pouring the plaster in and filling it to the brim, praying and prepping as it dried.

    The drone of Black light Burns'' ¡°Coward¡± played in the basement, as Alexander nodded his head, the rattle of spray paint cans shaking to the beat. The smell of the paint filling his nostrils as the buzz settled in, and he waved another chaotic coat of Dijon Olive on the AR foregrip, the barrel shroud, and the bracer parts, to match the factory coat on tanner¡¯s Sig. He meticulously stenciled her name and his signature on the inside of the shroud, as if to give it a blessing of good luck in finding its mark. He muttered the lyrics like an incoherent prayer, saying his promises to his love and feeling the protection spells of his work seep in as it dried.

    Mike heated up a small crucible in the old church''s stone fireplace, carefully placing down 2 very old gold coins, letting it warm next to the one containing the last of the 30 pieces of silver. The gold melted quickly, and he poured it in the mold, casting the first bullet, and repeating it when the silver was ready. He stood in the dark, holding the tongs in hand like a medieval warrior ready for battle.

    Alexander held the threading bar in his hand like a medieval mace, admiring his sawed down and threaded barrel. He poured the red threadlock into the suppressor and turned on the boresight to align it with every turn until it centered on the paper. He carefully stepped away as it cured, returning to the table where the gun¡¯s upper and handle rested in the padded vise. Wires extended from the red-dot sight to a little hand switch. He secured it with a dot of glue to the foregrip, securing it further with a piece of bike tire inner-tube. He grabbed the grip, his thumb flipping the switch and checking the distance. A little short for him, probably just Tanner¡¯s arm-length. He stood back to admire the gun taking form in symmetrical piles of parts, like an altar to the god of Sig ARs, two 556 bullets sat at angles purely for the aesthetic of it. He began mixing the black mica powder and lacquer to trace in the circular Sig Emblem, to contrast and stand out when polished.

    ¡°By my blood sweat and tears, you shall be protected.¡± He muttered.

    Mike sat before the church altar, a silver bullet and a gold bullet laid out, with matching silver and gold primers to their sides. He took from his pocket 2 slightly different magnesium propellant casings, one with a slightly turned-down band around it. He placed that one aside and began carefully placing a sticker stencil around the smoother casing. He began peeling away the backing plastic to reveal a protective plastic sticker in the shape of the carved cross emblem matching the bullets. He placed the casing in the etching liquid, letting the electrified container slowly erode the symbol deep in either side. He then removed from a container a thin strip of paper from the old bible containing the verse Mark 9:29, soaked in the priest¡¯s blood and turned a deep brownish red. He placed it down and applied some glue, wrapping it inside out around the thinned rim of the second casing and applying the same stencil, giving it a protective black finish. He applied the molten wax around to seal it. He then began painting the deep engraved marks on each bullet with a combination of powdered metal and lacquer, silver for the gold bullet and gold for the silver one, so it would contrast and compliment when polished.

    ¡°By the blood of the pure, and the sins of the fallen, you will be slain.¡± Mike said in the air.

    Alexander slowly hand-turned the screws, assembling the stock/bracer to not scratch the new paint. He checked the adjustment to make sure it moved snugly, leaving just enough room to move, looking up at the welded metal ceiling braces in his garage, admiring the moon in the tiny garage door window.

    ¡°God if you¡¯re listening, bless this gun and its user. Let her find her mark and kill what tries to kill her, man or demon. Forgive my deception and my general shitty ways just this once for her sake.¡± He said, half believing it, touching up his chipped and scuffed black nail polish from the work he had put into it.

    Mike slowly hand-turned the drill chuck in his little hand-made fixture, hollowing out the silver bullet to match the gold one and setting it beside. He then checked the iron nail removed from the crucifix to make sure it fit the silver armor-piercing round snugly, just like the rolled up bible verses encased in wax that he had fitted inside the hollow-point bullet of gold, leaving just enough room in each to add a drop of holy water before closing off. He then sat the bullets pointing up and looked at the ceiling, the wooden rafters and stained-glass with the full moon shining brightly through it.

    ¡°Bless these bullets of rarity and antiquity, so they may find their mark and vanquish only evil back to hell. Let them drive like a nail into the flesh and pierce the damned soul, and rebuke the devil from this earth.¡± He said, as he took out some of Nadja¡¯s nail polish, dipping the tip of the gold hollow-point in her emerald green, and the Armor piercing silver tip in black, just like her beloved double tap combination. A mockery of sorts. They dried as he recited verses and asked for forgiveness for the lives he took, quenching a candle with his fingertips for each one until he was sitting in slightly moonlit darkness.

    He carefully placed both bullets side by side in plastic wrap and dipped the bundle in the molten wax, stamping it lightly with the dead priest¡¯s ring and snipping off the excess end. Now holding up a wax pill, the color of bone and marked with a crucifix, he gently placed it in a wooden box and the box in his coat pocket.

    ¡°Forgive me for the remaining lives I must take and the evil I must do, except for one life I take gladly, for you, in your honor. May she reduce to ash and cinder where she falls, and perish knowing what power ended her reign. Let it be the last life I take and the one I refuse to regret taking. Amen.¡± He said, getting up and preparing to return to the purgatory of pleasure, where Nadja awaited.

    Alexander stood proudly, finishing aligning the red-dot and oiling the gun, preparing to return to the den where tanner awaited.

    ¡°Still working?¡± She asked, staggering in, rubbing her eyes.

    ¡°I was hoping to finish while you slumbered, as a grand reveal when it was finished.¡±

    ¡°God you really are just like some demented circus ringmaster. But I love it. I love the production, the rituals, and the whole vibe of it. I love the gun.¡± she sighed.

    ¡°I refuse to let your safety rely on how long the ammo lasts on the gun Mike made you, when I fear Mike himself may be the one they sail towards to protect you. This shall be your new killing device. Perfectly zeroed red dot, magnifier, foregrip switch so you never take your eye off your target, and you can see in the dark and who glows like he can with this scope. Small, compact, far more powerful and armor piercing than that pathetic little plastic toy with silver bullets, 30 pieces of it per magazine fitting his betrayal. You can now reply with brass, 30 pieces at a time. Extra magazines for the lady, of course.¡± Alexander bowed.

    ¡°You know¡­it¡¯s almost nice to have someone build a gun to fit ME perfect, rather than a gun built to fit the caliber they think is perfect. It¡¯s not made to be the perfect killer; it¡¯s just made to be as perfect as possible for this little killer. You know, Mike never asked what gun I wanted. He just made the best guns to fit his idea of supremacy and assumed I would want it. Of course I did, free guns, flattering to be thought of at all. But you really did think of ME, not just the mechanics of it. You¡¯re really not like him, Alex. You¡¯re better.¡± she swooned.

    ¡°A better partner or a better inventor of death?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Now you know damn well he¡¯s 10 times the inventor you are when it comes to death, welcome to the club. Which would you rather be? A better partner or a better bringer of death?¡± she asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Until this is over, the reaper medal would be preferred, as it means your safety and vanquishing those that threaten you. Once that is done, the other would be my choice of bragging right.¡±

    ¡°He would never hurt me, Alex.¡± She assured him.

    ¡°She would. Let me have my paranoia tonight, it prepares me better.¡± He sighed.

 Chapter 9: Azazel

    Tanner sat looking distressed, conflicted. Her eyes stared forward as her gaze passed through the screen in front of her, and she silently thought to herself, cleaning her gun over and over despite never being dirty. Alexander strolled in the room and tilted his head, not even getting a reaction.

    ¡°Mission control to Tanner. Have we lost you?¡± he asked, brushing her hair.

    ¡°Do you trust Yuri?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Distinctly more than I trust Rowan, far less than I trust you, but that should be said the same for most humans. I trust very few, very little.¡±

    ¡°Everything he said so far has turned out to be true, but he hides a lot from us. Yes, I went through his laptop. He bought 3 tickets to a football game. Yuri doesn¡¯t even like American sports. Look at the online tickets. It¡¯s not even like the Superbowl game, and he bought 3 tickets. Who¡¯s he going with? Has he ever mentioned having any friends? Now, on the other hand, look at the halftime show. James Chavez. Huge political activist, anti-war protestor. He¡¯s spoken out against the Russian president¡¯s actions. The guy is basically a protest machine. Is Yuri still working for Nadja?¡±

    ¡°Seems unlikely he would arm us all up like soldiers of fortune, with tainted currency given by that witch, when he wishes her dead as bad as most, and knows these may be the guns that kill her.¡± He argued.

    ¡°Look at this¡­blueprints of the stadium. Who buys 3 tickets to a game they don¡¯t like and maps the layout of the damn building unless they''re tickets for them to kill their next target?¡± she asked, as the front door shut, and she discreetly put her 7mm SMG on her lap. Yuri stepped into the main room and noticed them sitting there. ¡°Forget something?¡± she asked as he stood looking guilty with 2 briefcases and no answer.

    ¡°You seem to have mistaken my laptop for yours.¡± He said with a sigh of annoyance.

    ¡°What¡¯s in the briefcases?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Drugs, pornography.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°Why did you get 3 tickets to the game?¡±

    ¡°I like football.¡± Yuri sighed.

    ¡°Name your favorite team, and 4 players on that team.¡± She asked. He sighed and chewed on the idea of just making it up on the spot.

    ¡°What are you getting at? Invade my personal space and start inquisition?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going with Mike and Nadja to kill and or capture James Chavez, aren¡¯t you?¡± Tanner bluntly asked.

    ¡°No, not exactly. I have connections telling me they may try and do the hit. I was attending to stop them, maybe get lucky and take out Nadja.¡±

    ¡°Oh bullshit. Who were you taking, your two other friends we don¡¯t know, that you probably can¡¯t name for secret reasons?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°No, you know them. I¡¯m taking Alexander and Rowan. Rowan does not know, he¡¯s not really friend, more like¡­extra option. Alexander, you recall the ammunition you wanted and the¡­mission we discussed?¡± he asked as Tanner turned and looked annoyed.

    ¡°Alex, what the fuck is he talking about?¡± she asked, as he now looked guilty and hesitant to answer.

    ¡°We may have¡­procured some vague plans to have a¡­masculine outing of some kind, and I was told to simply agree and not given the details, aside from be ready to shoot someone and have your gun sighted in.¡± He said, avoiding the word Mike.

    ¡°Alex, if you and Yuri wanna go to a movie or watch a game at a bar without me, that¡¯s fine, but you¡¯re planning to kill Nadja without me?¡± she asked, growing louder. ¡°And you¡¯re taking Rowan?¡±

    ¡°I was not aware of Rowan¡¯s attendance until now. Rather ruins the mood, actually.¡± Alexander huffed, ¡°Yuri failed to mention his inclusion to me, would have been nice.¡±

    ¡°Tanner, apologies.¡± Yuri interrupted. ¡°I left this vague because I planned to recruit a third man, who refused the job when I told him Nadja was involved. Most people that know her fear her. Rowan is only backup option. We did not invite you because honestly we have concerns you might be a bit unwilling to do what might be necessary. The plan is to kill Nadja and subdue Mike, but this is fucking Michael Finn we¡¯re talking about, he may not go down alive, and people may die. I would rather kill him than let him kill you or myself. This is unfortunate reality. You have bias. I asked Alexander to remain silent, and he did so to keep you safe. Here¡­you want to know what is in briefcase? Two FORT 230 9mm Ukrainian submachine guns, and animal tranquilizer guns. I got Alexander and myself CZ rifles and armor piercing rounds the other day. Why would I need armor piercing rounds and darts to kill¡­halftime-show asshole? Why would I buy Ukrainian pistols and American rifles when Mike makes fucking super-guns for his missions? When has Nadja ever darted anyone and kept them alive? Armor piercing rifles are for killing Nadja, dart is for Mike, and if dart fails, submachine guns are for Mike. You would not approve.¡± He explained.

    ¡°Damn right, I don¡¯t approve. I¡¯m your best asset out there. I know Mike better than anyone, and I¡¯m the only one he won¡¯t hurt, even in self-defense. I¡¯m the only one who can dart his ass without him killing in return.¡± She barked.

    ¡°Exactly. Nadja knows this, she would kill you first. You and little dart gun against that monster, is bye-bye Tanner. Very sad funeral. You would get killed to save Mike, or get Mike killed, or us killed. You are liability because you have big heart and preacher blinders, and this is why I don¡¯t just tell you things. Now mission is fucked.¡± he shrugged. "Because you will insist on going."

    ¡°Mission is not fucked, if you know where they are going to strike, we strike back. That¡¯s what we¡¯re trying to do here, that¡¯s the whole point of this group!¡± she yelled.

    ¡°No,¡± Alexander spoke up, ¡°This is where we differ in manifestos, love. We all want to make the world better by ridding it of the evil in it, the worst and out of control. However, we are vastly over our professional level, and you are protecting one of the monsters, that we need all the luck even hoping to compete with. This very group exists to kill the monsters, not tame them and cage them and rehabilitate. That¡¯s what prisons and rehabs are for, criminals with a hope of rehabilitation. That¡¯s why we don¡¯t kill those criminals. Most of them can be saved. We are the ones called upon when the animals need to be put down, and you insist on subduing Mike, potentially the most lethal killer alive, humanely, as a pet, while he has no hesitation killing our team. Just like when he put a bullet in Caleb and one next to my head, on his religious quest to torture and kill a Mayor.¡±

    ¡°Alex, he was my friend. If you were taken prisoner, we¡¯d risk our lives to bring you back, too.¡±

    ¡°He does not WANT rescued¡­ He wants Nadja! HE. IS. HOME!¡± said Alexander, taking a breath to calmly brush his hair back behind his ear and have a smoke. ¡°He chose her over you already, which in itself is fucking insane to me, and the very fact that even you must tranquilize him, to bring him in, kicking and fighting his chains, implies he does not want rescued. He is the enemy. If the chance to take the shot arises, we have the tranquilizers, but if my life and protecting you is suddenly dependent on it, bullets must be the next option. I promise you we fully intended to give him a quicker and cleaner death than say, Sage Ember, who he probably has hanging from shackles without skin, or whatever was planned for James Chavez. A quick and clean shot is as good as one can dream of receiving, in this kind of work, and Mike is working, for the damn devil now. You simply cannot admit it.¡± Alexander said, chain-smoking nervously.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Why do I feel like the goal was always just killing him, and the dart gun was the backup plan?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Really depended on how things went.¡± Yuri admitted. ¡°Once Nadja was dead, Mike would have chance to either seek vengeance or thank us. If he looked like vengeance was inevitable, I would not bother with dart. Dart was¡­optimistic option. Better to have than not. My apologies, for being honest and realistic. I do not believe in fairly tail happy ending, nor does Alexander. Those are for young girls in love. Unfortunately, many of them fall in love with the wrong man and get hurt. Neither of us wants this. What did Alexander say the other night? Better you angry with him than dead on good terms?¡± he asked.

    ¡°More or less.¡± Alexander shrugged. Tanner calmed her rage with a deep breath.

    ¡°Okay, well I¡¯m the group leader, so¡­ Either mutiny and kick me out, or we bring me in on the plans. I won¡¯t tell you to die, so Mike can live, but I¡¯ll tell you to trust me and give him a chance. She has him brainwashed somehow. He¡¯s fixable if he¡¯s alive and she''s dead. Just promise if you can take him alive, you¡¯ll try it first. And if you can¡¯t do that, and you have to defend yourself, I¡¯ll understand. But the dart is the first plan, plan B is the bullet. We¡¯re all on the same page when it comes to Nadja just getting the bullets first. I just wish EVERYONE didn¡¯t lie to me.¡± She said, storming off and slamming the door.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Alexander sighed. ¡°I believe there went Plan A, so do please tell me you have some form of Russian operative maneuver ready for this scenario, that does not involve darting Tanner.¡±

    ¡°I will improvise. Plans change. I adapt.¡± He said, putting down the guns and heading the other way to the backyard, as Alexander threw his hands up in frustration.

    ¡°Are we NOT ALL ON THE SAME TEAM!?¡± he yelled.

    Nadja picked up the phone, looking irritated at the interruption, as Mike rolled to the side to let her up.

    ¡°Da? Your timing is terrible, Yuri. This is why I dislike you sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Plans have changed. You will dislike me more if I said nothing. Tanner has suspicious of my allegiance and I have adjusted my cover to fix it, but she knows of the sports game and the activist. I told them dart gun was to subdue Mike and machine guns were for mission to kill you. So they will be attending the event to stop the kill and attempt to kill you. Do you want to simply cancel?¡±

    ¡°Nyet, you shaved ape. We do not cancel. We ADAPT. Did you deliver the ammunition?¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Yes. I told them it was armor piercing. Vests should be sufficient, if they use 9mm guns. Nobody here is sniper, nobody is using long range rifle, or getting guns into a stadium. You should forget taking Chavez alive. Just kill him on stage and make video later, same effect. Dead activist, bible message, less for me to clean up.¡± Yuri shrugged, looking back to check for followers. ¡°Please don¡¯t Kill Alexander, he¡¯s not a threat, and it would break Tanner¡¯s heart.¡±

    ¡°Why does everyone seem to love Tanner so much?¡± Nadja snarled. ¡°Don¡¯t begin to tell me who to kill and let live. We made a deal, remember that.¡± She said hanging up.

    Gabe woke to a phone ringing and answered it. ¡°It¡¯s 2AM,¡± he sighed.

    ¡°We got a hit on one of the burner phones, Gabe.¡± Said Dyson, ¡°They¡¯re going after some singer at a football game, and there¡¯s another group that Russian dick is working for who¡¯s trying to take out the terrorists. I think we inspired a knock-off group, but they don¡¯t sound very prepared. I traced the burner call. Gabe, it¡¯s 25 minutes from here, we could intercept right now and nail the main guy¡¯s bitch. Call everyone you can, on the way, meet me here. I¡¯ll have the truck loaded up before you arrive.¡± Dyson chuckled, hanging up. ¡°Oh motherfucker, you just did yourself in. Welcome to America, bitch.¡±

    ¡°schas po ebalu poluchish, suka!¡± Nadja yelled at the phone, hanging up on Yuri. She threw her wine glass across the room, gnashing her teeth.

    ¡°Change of plans, I guess?¡± Mike asked. Nadja sat looking annoyed and breathed coldly, looking back at him.

    ¡°Tell me, Michael, would you kill Yuri if I asked?¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Without hesitation. Is that an order or a hypothetical question?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Hypothetical scenario, subject to change into real order. What if I told you to kill them all? Alexander, Yuri, Rowan, everyone other than your precious Tanner?¡±

    ¡°Alexander is kind of a prick, but he¡¯s good for Tanner. He¡¯s afraid of us, and he¡¯s afraid we will kill Tanner. He¡¯s the best ally we have without him knowing it, because as long as his chicken-shit ass prefers to stay away, he keeps tanner safe with him. If I kill him, she may lose faith in me, or just get her heart broken. Either way, it¡¯s a risk, and I would offer a better alternative. Now, if you want Yuri and Rowan dead, just say the word. She needs Alex. We need her to need Alex. There are no other young killers she respects and trusts who I trust around her. Without me, she needs someone. She¡¯s impulsive. So, if you have a replacement boyfriend in mind, with better credentials, go ahead and name him.¡± Mike smirked.

    ¡°Stupid little cutter should have left with her, ran away to another state.¡± Nadja angrily brooded.

    ¡°Well, you were the one who stole her boyfriend. Immature little killers with no family tend to take that personal, you¡¯re lucky she¡¯s not a better shot. Relax, we can just kill Chavez and get out. Dead in public send a message, and next time we¡¯ll leave Yuri out of the plan so he can¡¯t screw it up.¡± Mike yawned.

    ¡°How is the Judas coming along?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Done. Ready to go and tested.¡±

    ¡°And Azazel?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­almost perfect. Ready to test soon.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°Spoil me, Preacher. I want to see something bleed tonight.¡± She hissed. "What better night for a test? Wake up Azazel.¡±

    The bell chimed as a gas-station door opened, and Mike strolled in, heavy coat and a stiffness in his step. He grabbed a bag of snacks and a bottle of vodka, looking around casually as the lights flickered and went out, turning back on a few moments later. He smiled, taking note of the people in the convenience area. He staggered to the counter and stared at the lady behind it. She looked up with concern and back to the register.

    ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to drink those before paying, but I won¡¯t tell anyone. Already partying, I see? Lucky you. Sorry for the lights, they keep flickering tonight.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a storm building.¡± He said ominously.

    ¡°Report says clear skies and cool night. Perfect for a walk.¡± She winked.

    ¡°Is that you in there?¡± he smirked, giving her several bad vibes.

    ¡°Hitting that vodka real heavy already. Yea, it¡¯s actually me in here.¡± She said with an attitude, tilting her glasses. ¡°It pretty much always is. That¡¯ll be $15.50¡±

    ¡°Can you see anything out of place?¡± he asked, stepping back and holding his arms out, so the coat would hang loosely. She looked him over.

    ¡°Fly¡¯s not open; I didn¡¯t see you steal anything. Why, you got a hot date later? You look fine, drunk, but fine.¡± She replied. ¡°Mint it up, and go for it, bro. Lights keep going out like this, you''ll be late for your date.¡±

    ¡°You know you don¡¯t glow in the dark.¡± He sighed ominously. ¡°That would make you harder to hit from a distance.¡± He said, tilting the gun tucked under his arm, slung to by a belt strap and now clearly visible. Her eyes went cold as she froze in place. He swigged on the bottle again.

    ¡°Just take what you want. It¡¯s fine.¡± She whispered nervously, opening the register.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you wanna play this game, so you can get a running start or stay there and go for a weapon. I like not knowing your next move.¡± He said, as she held her hands up and slowly made her way to the door.

    ¡°Buddy, you give me 30 seconds, and I¡¯ll be 500 yards down that road. Totally quiet and no alarms.¡± She breathed heavily.

    ¡°Sounds good. 500 yards, 30 seconds.¡± He said softly.

    Mike leaned outside the gas station entrance, watching her run down the road and counting in his head as he shifted the selector on Azazel up to the red R middle point on the tiny bullpup rifle. The click of the 2 barrels rotating positions and placing the 7mm caliber on bottom was barely audible. He shouldered it and peered into the dawn lighting with the iron sights, estimating 500 yards and pulling the trigger. The gun made a soft little puff, like a BB gun, the thud of the round hitting flesh almost as loud as the shot. He took a deep breath, clicking the selector down one notch as the barrels rotated to 45 caliber. He racked the bolt back and caught the 2-inch-long skinny copper bullet, pocketing it. Taking aim carefully as she pulled herself up, trying to drag her legs. He fired 2 quick shots, hitting the back and the head, louder puffs this time, but oddly quiet. He began silently counting down from 666 as he clicked the selector up to the top position. The barrels rotating back to 7mm and a long copper 45 round ejected into his hand, as he racked the gun to open bolt mode. He pulled 2 magazines from behind the grip, topping off them both with very different shells and slapping them back in side by side, checking the chamber for silver. His count reached zero as he strolled back inside the gas station. Not a head looked up, as if nobody heard anything. He untucked the rifle, switching to full auto and holding it out, icy fingers caressed his hand and neck, taking the gun from him.

    ¡°Right on time. Azazel¡¯s all yours.¡± Mike said, placing the empty vodka bottle down, as Nadja clicked on Azazel¡¯s laser and shouldered it.

    ¡°Now I¡¯m having fun.¡± She whispered, shots ringing out loudly in 3 sets of two rapid taps, as screaming and panic ensued. Mike unholstered his pistol, casually following her to make finishing headshots, no sense letting them suffer, even if they did glow when the lights went out. Every one of them still alive would be reaching for their guns. She did a rapid mag-change behind the grip, letting fresh shotgun shells seat in snugly, and shifting to the 45 barrel. She held down the trigger and 8 deafening blasts of buckshot rang out in the station, followed by the sound of absolutely nothing.

 Chapter 10: Fallen Angels

    Mike stood in the dimming light, as flashes of death lit the gas station behind him and Nadja stepped out, satisfied and holding the smoking Azazel. They stared in the setting dusk as the faint sound of a Humvee approached at high speed.

    ¡°What do you see?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Backup. The glowsticks I just cut down called in heavy backup.¡±

    ¡°How many men do you think Carl still had out there hunting you, and how many did they recruit or hire to replace the ones you killed?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Mercs or Carl¡¯s leftover henchmen, those are dead, and these are about to be.¡± He said reloading Azazel, and moving the black Jezebel pistol from his back to his belt front, as she took the rose gold Jezebel from her back strap and deployed the sights and folding stock, grabbing several longer mags from the bike and tossing him 2, reloading.

    ¡°What are we dealing with?¡± she asked.

    ¡°They¡¯re all glowing, but just in little strips and patches, so they¡¯re wearing heavy body armor. I¡¯m guessing either steel or ceramic carrier plates, the kind none of these guns will get through, ballistic helmets, probably full kevlar." He said, "So aim for the brighter gaps. Limbs, neck, face. That vehicle holds at most 8 people, I don¡¯t feel like fighting 8 moving targets, so let¡¯s try and make this a little more evenly matched." He said, selecting the 45 blackout rounds and shouldering the gun. He fired 3 quick shots, evenly spaced out, obscuring the windshield, and then hammered the driver''s side impact mark with 5 more rounds, almost threading the same crater center as the screeching tires and vehicle began to wobble and take the ditch. The thump of the hood slamming the ditch side as it stopped, let them know someone wasn¡¯t belted in. ¡°7 prone targets.¡± He corrected, pocketing the magazine and reloading it with the last shotgun mag.

    The barrels rotated as he selected the 7mm blackout rounds and flipped his hood up, Nadja briskly darting to the treeline beside the road, as he stood his ground in the street. The doors opened and orders were yelled out, as Mike switched to the pistol, flipping the stock out and using Azazel as a blocking brace, spraying 5.7 Morozov pistol rounds in quick auto bursts to fog and obscure the side windows. Nadja walked steadily behind the first row of trees, firing her usual two-shot taps in quick intervals as she made her way pas the vehicle and stopped behind a tree to listen for panic. She could hear the sound of 2 men on the ground in pain, and the words ¡°get in!¡± repeated by several voices. Knowing the wounded were suffering and the non-wounded were busy pulling their buddies back in the vehicle; she reversed direction and made another pass in full auto, raining a series of half hollow-points and half armor piercing rounds across the open doors, 2 bodies falling out and 2 crawling back in trying to shut the door. She stepped forward dumping the last 20 rounds into the one partially open door and kicking it shut, changing mags and ducking down. Now trapping them in the vehicle, windows fogged white with broken polycarb, she hunkered low waiting to fire at anything opening.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± Dyson asked, panting breathlessly.

    ¡°Keep your shit together!¡± yelled a fully functional Gabriel, pulling the dead or unconscious driver from his seat and scrunching his way in, stomping the gas and riding the ditch blindly a good way before cutting it back on the road and making a full stop. With the driver¡¯s side doors still visibly clear and the doors no longer pinned into the ditch, he opened the door and lugged the MK48 Belt-fed machine gun to the front. He kicked the door open, firing before it was even fully open, and clipping the door gasket, sending a stream of 51 NATO rounds into the tree line. He held on, pausing just long enough to yell: ¡°Brock! Code 3!¡± and resume fire as a black man with red tape stripes rolled out of the back, and circled around, followed by Dyson and another man in all gray. Mike calmly stood in the dark, no optic or glasses, peering down the black iron sights at a dark vehicle and tracking the glowing bits. Dyson waved his arm with 2 fingers up, and waved with one finger up the other way, splitting the men in different directions. Gray man stuck a military M4 carbine around the fogged and splintered door window, ready to shoot whatever moved, as Gabe paused, hoping to simulate a reload.

    Nadja stepped from behind the tree, lowering immediately to duck the gunshot and firing a double tap at his feet, dropping him and mid-fall, shifting to Gabe, pinning him back with a double tap. As he backed behind cover, she double tap executed the man on the ground to be sure, and casually returned to the treeline like a ghost, Gabe losing eyes on the target. The unconscious driver shook his head, opening the side door to joining the fight, bloody and dazed, shouldering his M4, and before taking a shot or finding a target, Mike placed a rifle round between his vest and facial covering, splattering red across the vehicle in two very calmly placed shots. Gabe felt a strange wind cross his path, turning to see something sneak behind him and to the back of the vehicle.

    ¡°WATCH YOUR SIX!¡± he yelled.

    The sound of an M4 doing a full auto mag dump at close range, lit the silhouette of Nadja on the opaque white window, staring right at the barrel, followed by a frantic man yelling ¡°fuck!¡± and one rapid double tap silencing him. The doors closed, and she casually sidestepped the moving Humvee, now propelling backwards to run her over, as 3 frantic men with zero visibility tried to pull their wits together. 3 more rounds came through the windshield, hunkering them down and stopping the Humvee.

    ¡°What just happened?¡± barked Gabe as Dyson and Brock reloaded everything they had. Dyson peeled off his busted and bent facial armor, wiping snot and sweat from his beard to catch his breath and spit blood, his nose broken and beard now red. Brock shrugged in confusion.

    ¡°Fuck if I know. Mad Dog had the bitch, I swear. He dumped the full mag at her and she just one tapped him. There¡¯s no way he missed everything.¡± Brock gasped.

    ¡°What armor did she have?¡± asked Gabe.

    ¡°NONE!¡± he barked. ¡°Fucking¡­little black dress. Looked form fitting. Even if that dress is level 2 Kevlar he should have cut her in half with that burst at point-blank. He aimed for the face anyway.¡±

    ¡°Dyson, is Mister Black down?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°Shit no, he¡¯s not down, I never got an actual shot on him. You can¡¯t stick anything out without it getting shot. He took out Tom and Bowie before they could fire, fucking throat shots, right between the armor, I didn¡¯t even hear the gun go off. I just took something to the face and dropped. I¡¯m fine, by the way. Busted nose, thanks for askin.¡±

    ¡°None of us are fine, we¡¯re real damn far from fine.¡± Brock panted as Gabe peaked through one of the bullet holes in the window and took the scope off of the dead passenger¡¯s guns to use the night vision.

    ¡°They¡¯re just standing there.¡± He whispered.

    ¡°RUN EM OVER!¡± yelled Dyson in a panic.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see anything. They¡¯ll move and surround us, we got them on the same side of the vehicle at least. Both in view.¡± Gabe said, cracking the side window and lowering it slightly. ¡°HEY! You still got any ammo left, asshole, cuz we got plenty.¡± Gabe taunted. Nadja casually burned a 20 round auto burst at the hood, giggling at the irony.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°So do we.¡± Mike said. ¡°You¡¯d be amazed how much we carry. Who the hell are you? Carl¡¯s men or just hired corpses?¡±

    ¡°Death incarnate!¡± hollered Brock.

    ¡°Nah.¡± Mike yawned. ¡°She¡¯s still standing right here next to me. Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Archangels.¡± Gabe boasted. Mike''s smile lit up proudly.

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re the one planning to take my head.¡± Mike chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ve actually been wanting to meet you. Haven¡¯t had the time to track you down.¡±

    ¡°You the son of a bitch who killed my kid brother?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve killed at least 120 people, you¡¯ll have to be more specific if you want that answered honestly.¡± Mike yawned.

    ¡°Skinny kid, shaved hair, leather jacket. His name was Caleb, and you shot him in the head in an alley outside the courthouse massacre.¡± Barked Gabe.

    ¡°Oh¡­I guess I am that son of a bitch. In fairness, he was there to kill the same mayor we did, and pulling a gun on someone better than you tends to get you killed. Maybe he should have dropped the gun.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all bullshit. Every bit of it.¡± Gabe scoffed.

    ¡°Fine¡­don¡¯t believe me. Make up your own perfect story for all I care. Point is you¡¯re gonna try and kill me anyway, and fail, so¡­ frankly I don¡¯t give a shit if you believe me or not. How¡¯s hockey mask doing? Did that thing stop the present I sent him?¡±

    ¡°Sure did. How¡¯s your bitch, Mister Black? She bleeding and pretty bad after that little tradeoff with Mad Dog?¡± a very bloody Dyson spat.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem to be remotely bothered. I think your dog¡¯s dead, though. Too violent, had to be put down. We¡¯re both actually have a great time. This turned out to be way more of an eventful evening than we planned, and the new gun got tested far more than I expected, with no issues. Little warm, but I¡¯d call that a very successful test.¡± Mike causally replied.

    ¡°Well, it sounds like your big gun ran out of ammo, and you switched to something lighter, so you¡¯re not getting though this Humv-¡± He flinched as a round came through the peep-hole and clipped his shoulder.

    ¡°Wrong. I can walk around and put rounds through those holes, bounce them around in that tin can and probably hit someone critically with enough shots. Nadja here can get on the hood and put the barrel right in it, shred you guys like hamburger.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°Mmmm, that does sound fun.¡± She smiled, leaning on him and lightly biting her tongue.

    ¡°Not if I run your ass over. You get any closer, and dodging the Humvee would get really iffy. You¡¯re standing back so you can move if I floor it.¡± Gabe noted.

    ¡°And you could gun that in reverse and spin a 180, drive away with an intact back glass and we couldn¡¯t catch you. So you can run away like a bitch if you¡¯d like, just back right over your dead dog and leave. We could try this again, or you can just wait there in a sealed box, hoping one of us doesn¡¯t sneak up and gets to that window. You¡¯re pissed off, and you don¡¯t back down, but you¡¯re also scared and screwed with no backup plan or reinforcements. You got night vision on your scopes, I assume?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Hell yes we do, I can see you clear as day.¡± Gabe yelled.

    ¡°Hell?¡± he chuckled. "You wanna believe in hell? Switch to thermals.¡± Mike yelled, nudging Nadja to do her thing.

    ¡°What¡¯s the trick?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°Find out.¡± Mike shrugged as they stood silently. Dyson threw his hands up.

    ¡°It¡¯s a trap. No idea what kind, but he¡¯s got flash grenades or something.¡± Dyson huffed. ¡°He¡¯s gonna blind you and make a move.¡±

    ¡°I know he¡¯s got something planned, but if he even flinches, I¡¯ll switch back. He knows I got night vision if he wanted to blind me with a grenade, he wouldn¡¯t tell me to switch to thermals, he¡¯d want me on night vision. He¡¯s got something intimidating to show off on thermals. Molotov cocktail maybe?"

    ¡°I swear to God if he¡¯s got a fuckin flamethrower, we¡¯re done.¡± Brock sighed.

    ¡°They¡¯re just waiting. Hand me the thermal goggles.¡± Gabe asked, taking it and getting ready to swap as Nadja stared directly down the hole with her gun in hand and Mike just casually standing with his rifle pointed upwards, resting.

    ¡°Fuck it,¡± he said, moving the scope and shifting positions, to get the thermal goggles up. ¡°DAMNIT!¡± he yelled, punching the gas in reverse and hearing rounds thump the hood and something roll off. He spun 180 degrees and shifted into drive, hauling ass down the road blindly, sticking his head out just enough to see the road when they were turning enough to block his head with the vehicle.

    ¡°WHAT!?¡± Dyson asked. ¡°What happened? What did you see?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Admitted Gabe ¡°I switched visuals and the woman was gone. I don¡¯t know how she knew, but the second I moved my eyes off, she must have rushed and ducked low out of range or something. I gunned the gas, she was on the hood in 3 seconds flat, I just know it. God DAMN she is fast.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not kidding.¡± Sighed Dyson. ¡°I had thermals on the whole time, I never even saw the bitch once. It¡¯s like she just teleports between cover."

    ¡°What do you mean you didn¡¯t see her?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way she should even be alive.¡± Brock barked in frustration, ¡°Mad Dog was 3 fuckin feet from her and got a whole clip emptied in her face. That ain''t no bitch, that¡¯s a damn pet demon or something.¡±

    ¡°Are you out of your damn mind, bro?¡± Dyson sighed, She¡¯s good, she¡¯s real fucking good, I¡¯ll give her that, but you don¡¯t actually think this shit is legit? Mister Black the grim reaper and the Red Death? That internet comic book shit? Grim reaper with the devil fighting beside him? Come on. You need to lay off the social media. It¡¯s scare tactics and urban legends.¡± He scoffed.

    ¡°Motherfucker how do you take 20 rounds of 556 point blank without armor, and just walk it off?¡±

    ¡°He just missed her!¡± Dyson yelled.

    ¡°Mad Dog missed ALL of them? Even one of those should have killed her.¡± Brock objected.

    ¡°She¡¯s fast as fuck, did you not see her moves because I didn¡¯t see her one fucking time in that fight, and apparently she moved right past me. She¡¯s fast as shit. Maybe she grabbed the foregrip and held the barrel to the side, and he just dumped 20 rounds beside her head. She¡¯s probably deaf in that ear and dazed, but apparently on some hardcore drugs or something. Did you actually see her get shot?¡± Dyson asked.

    ¡°No! I got my ass behind cover, but he had her 3 feet away right in front, and I moved behind the door and the gun went off. Nobody is that fast.¡±

    ¡°Methheads bro. You¡¯ve seen the videos, skinny little gal in black, batshit insane following a cult leader. You ever fight a person on meth, it¡¯s like they don¡¯t take damage, they don¡¯t feel shit, they¡¯re running the adrenaline red line and fast as hell, but they¡¯ll keep fighting with a broken wrist and teeth missing because they don¡¯t feel it till the drugs wear off. She could have taken a hit anywhere non-vital and never felt it. They die later, but I¡¯ve a heard of cops putting a whole Glock mag of 9mm in some drugged up psycho on crystal and PCP, and they just don¡¯t drop. They shoot you back or stab you, claw your face off before they even know they¡¯re shot to hell, and by the time they bleed out 3 cops are in an ambulance. The Bitch was just wearing a vest, trained and cranked.¡±

    ¡°Guys, shut up and calm down. They¡¯re just terrorists with really good gear, and somehow they knew we were coming.¡± Gabe sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know how, but they knew, and they prepped and had a plan somehow, maybe they knew we were tracking them, we¡¯ll check the Humvee for bugs, we¡¯ll regroup. Is anyone hurt?¡±

    ¡°YES!¡± Dyson barked. ¡°I took two to the carrier chest plate and one in the face.¡±

    ¡°I mean, did anything get THROUGH your armor?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just bruised and pissed.¡± Dyson huffed ¡°You chill?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good.¡± Sighed Brock. "Something hit my helmet, could have been glass or shrapnel, bounced right off. You good Gabe?¡±

    ¡°I got clipped in the arm. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s bad, but even their pistol rounds will get through the Kevlar, apparently. They got some custom Russian spy gear or something. We were NOT ready. We lost 5 men tonight. Neither of them even seemed injured. Taking them head-on was a mistake. We won¡¯t make that mistake again. This isn¡¯t over. They don¡¯t know that we know about the halftime hit. We¡¯re gonna take them by surprise, long range this time.¡±

    ¡°You got 3 tickets to a sold out game and some plan to get a 4-foot-long rifle into a stadium?¡± Dyson asked.

    ¡°No, but I don¡¯t think they have a helicopter or underground tunnels so, they¡¯re gonna be leaving after the hit pretty fast and not expecting us waiting. We can get another shot, cover all 3 exits with 308 DMRs. We can¡¯t save everyone in there, but we can end this. If we move inside that stadium, they¡¯re gonna open fire on a lot of civilians to get to us. So we stay outside. Hopefully the casualties are minimal on their way out. We can still make damn sure it¡¯s the last time they kill anyone. We got 5 fallen angels tonight, we¡¯re not playing around here, and does anyone know how to get armor piercing incendiary 308 rounds on short notice?¡± Gabriel asked.

 Chapter 11: Halftime Show

    Rowan sat in a maintenance truck in what he considered tacky and unrefined worker clothing, 3 gun cases stacked to his right and a highball glass of water in his hand. The stadium in front of his view and music playing as he relaxed and waited.

    Yuri strolled suspiciously through the line and was very lethargically waved by the metal detector wand staff. It beeped around his belt buckle and Yuri sighed, lifting his shirt and getting a quick pat and a thumbs-up. He moved along and lifted his phone.

    ¡°Security is shit, but they do pick up pocket knifes, so they would pick up guns. Plan B.¡± he said, removing his jacket and putting on an orange vest with the word ¡°staff¡± on the back. He made his way to the back entrance where a security guard, an overweight extra-hire with a Glock, sat, playing on his phone.

    ¡°Sir, you can¡¯t go out that way.¡± He said, barely looking up at Yuri.

    ¡°There was last minute problem with delivery driver. James Chaves is expecting his backstage refreshments.¡± He said casually, in a badly done American accent.

    ¡°Nobody told me about any delivery¡±

    ¡°Nobody knew the stupid vendor would not stock the beer they agreed to, until an hour ago. He is very picky on his beverages, and we were told to go to this exit to bring the crate.¡± He argued. The security guard looked hesitant until Yuri took out a wad of cash. ¡°Look, he is going to be very upset, and if you make this difficult for Mister Chaves, I will mention you by nametag, or you can just do your job and check the goods, and then let me do my job.¡± He said tossing the wad in his lap.

    ¡°Wait here.¡± He said turning off the fire alarm by key, and opening the door where Alexander was waiting with an aluminum cart and a pallet of specialty Mexican beer.

    ¡°Evening.¡± He smiled as the guard moved the 6 packs and causally wanded them individually, stopping at the aluminum cart itself.

    ¡°Alright, you¡¯re clear, just be discreet." He waved, as he rolled in and joined Yuri, moving it backstage. Yuri glanced at him as he grinned.

    ¡°You get key?¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°Like magic. And now that alarm will be silent.¡± He whispered, doing jazz hands and flashing the alarm key. They moved to a maintenance room and locked the door behind them, unloading the beer as Yuri cracked one and took a few swigs.

    ¡°This is actually good brand.¡± Yuri nodded, helping him tilt the aluminum cart up and retrieve the briefcases. Alexander waited a moment as Yuri opened them, handing him 2 stick magazines of 9mm with very shiny nickel-plated bullets and black tips, loading their coats and checking the FORT-230 machine pistols before returning them to the briefcases. Yuri untaped a lone box as well.

    ¡°So 2 magazines, 40 rounds of armor piercing high-powered 9mm, Russian special? Alexander asked.

    ¡°Yes. This will go through almost any vest, so unless they are truly supernatural or somehow got in with carrier plates, these will do the job well. Same armor piercing in the Brens outside.¡± Yuri said handing him a dart pistol and pocketing just the syringe. ¡°Remember, shoot Mike with 9mm, no hesitation, then shoot dart and say you tried. Nadja is mine.¡± He said, tossing him a single round of what Alexander didn¡¯t know was light-loaded copper hollowpoints filled with black wax that wouldn¡¯t go through temu body armor at point-blank range. He chambered the briefcase gun and clicked them shut to casually carry, magazines in their belts to conceal, ditching the staff shirts for fitted suit jackets and expensive looking fake watches. They each took a counterfeit VIP badge and left the beer behind.

    Tanner sat on a bike, red SMG in her backpack, and staring a good 50 yards from the entrance line as a security guard passed her by. He gave her a look as she shrugged.

    ¡°Friends, right? Always early when you¡¯re not ready yet, always an hour late when they got your tickets.¡± She shook as he smiled and nodded, moving along.

    Yuri discreetly looked both ways and dropped a 6x20 inch cardboard box into the trash can, as Alexander gave him an odd look.

    ¡°Smoke bomb for distraction. Last minute idea.¡± He shrugged as an old janitor passed them both and casually put the entire half-empty bag in his cart, rolling to the janitor¡¯s closet. He tore open the box and pulled out Azazel, folded up and loaded. He held the bolt back and hit the release button, checking that the grip and slights deployed as intended, and locked them back down.

    Nadja, in a black wig and somehow more Goth than usual, strutted her way to her 4<sup>th</sup> row seats on the first balcony, her corset stiffer than usual with 3 large plastic pistols inside it. A middle-aged man sat next to her, one seat divided, and gave her a smile.

    ¡°Here alone?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m waiting on my boyfriend, he¡¯s late.¡± She said in an oddly flawless American accent and higher pitch, as if a totally different person was piloting her body.

    ¡°You don¡¯t seem like a football fan. Just supporting the boyfriend?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oh no, I¡¯m actually a huge fan of James Chavez. I¡¯m just here for him.¡± She giggled, not a trace of dark Russian accent, lisp, or her gravely dark tone.

    Alexander and Yuri leaned against the wall in the nosebleed section, peering down to look for Nadja, since she tended to stand out more than invisible Mike.

    ¡°You like football?¡± Yuri asked Alexander.

    ¡°Not particularly, brutish game of bull rushing and nonsense names for each specific type of bulrush. Lacks the sophistication of a sport like fencing, or Chess or women¡¯s volleyball.¡± He grinned.

    ¡°Volleyball?¡± Yuri said, scrunching his nose.

    ¡°Women¡¯s¡­volleyball. Make no omission of that distinction. It¡¯s rather sophisticated based on that fact alone.¡± He grinned.

    ¡°Speaking of sights¡­you did zero yours on your rifle, in case we need outside shootout.¡± Yuri mentioned.

    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m not one to trust factory zero on anything, even if it wasn¡¯t jostled about in transit. I checked with and without the magnifier, removed the iron sights for sleeker handling, and cleaned everything. Fresh oil and a few dry fires."

    Yuri looked at Alexander, puzzling for a moment.

    ¡°You removed iron sights?¡± he asked.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m only using the optic if I''m forced to make range shots. It¡¯s quicker, it has night vision, and it has a magnifier. It will be dark come halftime. Why would I keep the cheap plastic flip up sights on when I have the superior nocturnal options?¡±

    ¡°What if battery stops working?¡± Yuri asked. Alexander blinked as if considering a response. He blinked far too long.

    ¡°¡­well absolutely fuck me.¡± He smiled, sarcastically, and looking dead inside.

    The halftime act began, the Spanish heartthrob singing his 13-minute set as the audience watched, and the group nervously looked around for Mike. Nadja grinned in her seat as the man beside her noticed.

    ¡°Damn, you really do like this guy.¡± He bantered.

    ¡°The last part is the best part. It¡¯s a performance you¡¯ll never forget.¡± She whispered as the lights dimmed for part of the show, the final song. Mike watched the stadium light dim and the thousands of red dots move in their seats, the occasional white one he paid attention to, counting and mentally logging their locations. He deployed the gun and added on the scope, shouldering it and selecting the 7mm blackout rifle rounds. He took a shot, the gun barely making a sound.

    The crowd began to panic in various pockets, screaming and spreading out as security realized it wasn¡¯t crazed fans, it was people dying, heads shot off. One of the security guards grabbed his pistol and radio, looking for a shooter and not hearing any shots, including the last one that took the top off his head and sent him flopping down the bleacher steps. Nadja pulled 2 of the Brown Recluse revolvers from her corset, shooting the witness to her side and a woman to her left, grabbing her white hoodie from the next seat and hopping to the ground level, confident nobody would touch her, as she shot her way to the stage. She grabbed Chavez, using him like a human-shield, with one of the empty revolvers at his throat. She tucked the other gun back in her corset and removed the third and final one, fully loaded with 8 rounds. Alexander jumped to action, trying to get his gun from the briefcase and feeling a hand wrap around his face, and a needle puncture his neck, he punched for the groin and broke free, falling on his face and unable to stand up, apparently receiving a small amount of the sedative before fighting back. Everything went blurry.

    ¡°Mike discreetly strolled past Yuri in a black hooded jacket and sunglasses as Yuri handed him both of the Russian machine guns and then grabbed Alexander to carry him out. Mike tossed the briefcase down to Nadja, tucking the empty revolver and catching it, loading the magazine with her teeth as she made her way to the exit. She opened fire on the crowd, drawing any attention away from Mike as he discreetly walked out with the crowd, Alexander jerked violently, knocking Yuri over as he turned and swung to fight.

    ¡°Alexander!¡± Yuri barked. ¡°Snap out of it, it¡¯s me. Mike is long gone.¡±

    ¡°I believe I may have¡­ blackened out for a momentarily.¡± He muttered.

    ¡°Mike got you with some kind of syringe. He tried to get me too, but I avoided it. He did still manage to take our guns.¡±

    ¡°Bloody, fucking, Mister Blackops.¡± Alex sighed. As they made their way through the staff exit, the truck and Rowan pulling up as they did. Yuri got in and Alex grabbed the gun case, staggering back out.

    ¡°Get in.¡± Yuri insisted.

    ¡°No offense, but rightly piss-off while I go part a preacher with his beloved head.¡± He groaned, loading his rifle and looking for Mike as Rowan sped off without him. ¡°MIKE, WHERE ARE YOU! Cowardly prick of a man, vanishing into the dark like a creature of the night.¡± He rambled, waving the gun around and spotting Nadja in a white hoodie, using Chavez as a human shield. He hesitated, waiting for her to turn her back, and decided to hell with it, placing the red dot on her head and firing. The blur of red hair and recoil was difficult to see in the daze of his blurring eyes, but the distinct thud and stumble of her footing, letting Chavez fall, assured him of his hit. Somewhere between the head and the back. She caught her footing and stopped, arching her back and popping her neck, as if mildly annoyed. She yanked Chavez up and fired 2 rounds through his chest, turning and looking pissed off, dropping him. She turned the revolver behind her and gave Chavez a lethal headshot, splattering brains and lifting the machine pistol towards Alexander. He froze a moment, trying to process what happened and noticing blood all over her white shirt, before bullets began raining down around him, prompting him to tuck tail and run. A van with an open door blocked the rounds as he stumbled inside and it took off.

    Gabriel peered through a scope at the chaos in all directions.

    ¡°Does anyone have a target?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Negative.¡± Replied Dyson, perched on top of a van with a bolt action 308, scratching his beard nervously. ¡°I got a million people everywhere, I can¡¯t see anyone with a gun or a hostage.¡±

    ¡°I got¡­something.¡± Brock said ominously. ¡°I thought I saw the bitch with Chavez but I wasn¡¯t sure. She took a round to the back and I spotted a guy on the ground with a rifle running away. She¡¯s wounded. Some damn van picked up the shooter and left, and blocked my shot. When the van moved, she was gone.¡±

    ¡°So someone else killed her?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°No, gone as in not there, not dead on the ground, just... gone.¡±

    ¡°Are you shitting me? She¡¯s wounded and still fast?¡± Gabriel yelled, breaking from cover and running, 308 in his hands and turning the corner to hear gunshots and a bike speeding off with a woman on it, bloody shirt. He readied to shoot and spotted Mike, getting on another bike and offloading his guns. He shouldered the rifle and a young woman darted in the way. She looked familiar, and as she yelled something to Mike and turned her head, he realized it was ¡°Jill Smith¡± from the park.

    ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± he said, waiting for a clear shot.

    Mike sat on the bike looking up at Tanner.

    ¡°Mikey, it¡¯s me. Everything okay now.¡± She smiled. ¡°And I¡¯m so sorry for this.¡± She said raising her arm up and firing at his chest, rolling him off the bike.

    Gabe watched in confusion as she holstered the gun and squatted down as if crying, a van rolling up, a man stepping out and grabbing the body, the guns, and she followed him in.

    ¡°You badass little shit¡­ Dyson we may have another team involved. I think they just took down Mister black. Someone got a hit on the meth-demon so she should be wounded and vulnerable; can you or Brock get her location? She¡¯s apparently on foot or on a bike bleeding bad¡­hello?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°Gabe¡­¡± said Dyson with a sad sigh. ¡°Brock is dead. One of them snuck up on him and unloaded on the van, he¡¯s gone, man. There¡¯s no chick out here alone, staggering around or on the ground dying. I don¡¯t know what happened.¡±

    ¡°We got police sirens,¡± Gabe huffed angrily. ¡°FUCK! Circle the parking lot once and then just get out, if you see the bitch run her over or shoot her, even if she¡¯s already dead. Kill her a second time anyway, She can¡¯t be that far, Mister Black took one to the chest point-blank and was hauled off. So he¡¯s either dead or about to be. I don¡¯t know if this is over or not. Regroup, for the love of God try and spot the bitch for confirmation. I at LEAST want one of them confirmed dead.¡± Gabe yelled.

    Yuri stopped the van, switching places with Tanner to drive, as he took the extra guns to the truck and away from Mike. He sighed with relief as Rowan drove the truck rapidly back to the church, silently, in a suspicious manner.

    ¡°Thanks for ride.¡± He nodded to Rowan.

    ¡°Yes, all part of the plan. So¡­ Alexander was attacked, both of you were disarmed, and you managed to evade the infamous Mike without a scratch."

    ¡°I took scratches, believe me. I just saw him in time. Lucky moments I guess.¡±

    ¡°Amazing how you seem to know where Mike and Nadja will end up, and never manage to get shot by either of them or shoot either. Your magical sources seem to be damn near clairvoyant. I would have almost disregarded this if you even once took a close shot on Nadja, who you claim to hate so much. But if you two are such mortal enemies, it seems odd that the very Sage Ember that they take hostage and murder in front of a camera, ends up in your possession the very next day¡­and delivered to me. What is your body source exactly, Yuri? Is there a double agent between you and Nadja playing you both, or are you the one running back and forth, leaving celebrity body parts in MY possession? You know I can¡¯t go to the police with any of this. Now if I spoke up about this to say, Alex and Tanner, and you had a cover story, while I was alone or working with you, then the bodies in my fridge start to implicate me, don¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°What are you getting to?¡± Yuri growled.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting to the point that I have your secrets and your betrayal, and you have a lot of dirt on me, so I would like to defect and work for the winning team. It¡¯s clearly not this one. So can you, or can you not, get me in with Nadja and Mike, and get me a job?¡± asked Rowan.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do, but I make no promises.¡±

    ¡°Then you do still work for her, and you have been setting me up¡­correct?¡±

    ¡°Obviously, but it is complicated matter.¡±

    ¡°Fantastic. I don¡¯t need the complicated details, I just needed you to admit aloud while my phone was recording to my computer that you are, in fact, the defector and not me, That makes ME in control now. Evidence and all. And I want, ironically, exactly what you want, minus the gay Russian lover. Passports, a new identity, enough money to live comfortably in let¡¯s say the UK or Germany, where American crimes are not important. So my dumb friend¡­let¡¯s talk to Nadja about some favors, and see if we can¡¯t help me out and get me out of this shithole little killer community, hiding in the dark like a fugitive, and taking orders from a bitch who worked for Mike and thinks she¡¯s God¡¯s new favorite. Either we both leave this country rich, or neither of us does. Mull it over. I am in no particular hurry. Are you?¡± Rowan grinned.

 Chapter 12: Animal in a Cage

    Mike sat in the metal chair, the bag pulled from his head, as he sighed with a sense of invincibility at Alexander.

    "Not the slightest glimmer of fear behind those eyes, is there?¡± Alexander asked.

    ¡°Faith and confidence, nothing mortal can touch me.¡± He said as Alexander threw a right hook and almost flipped the chair.

    ¡°ALEX!¡± Tanner yelled.

    ¡°Perhaps the urge to touch was too much temptation to resist. You forgive him for touching Nadja, love, surely that little touch was forgivable.¡± Alexander growled.

    ¡°Alex, stop, leave us alone. You¡¯re too¡­hotheaded for this. I¡¯m safe in here with him. I may be the only living person who can say that truthfully.¡± She said as he strolled off to the door.

    ¡°Ninety-nine point one.¡± Mike chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he¡¯s not a threat to me, and he¡¯s not hot headed enough for me to hunt. 99.1 degrees. Human.¡± Mike clarified.

    ¡°Mike, what is wrong with you? I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re being drugged and played or if you just snapped and went insane, or if you always were insane, and I never even knew you?¡± she sighed, sitting down.

    ¡°You knew me. You were the only one who really knew me. That was a different Mike back then. It wasn¡¯t a lie, it was genuine, it was just an un-evolved form. What you don¡¯t understand is what I am now¡­what I have to be. A monster.¡± He chuckled.

    ¡°Mike, you don¡¯t have to be one. We¡¯ve all done bad things, you can go back to being you, she¡¯s drugging you, and it¡¯s not your fault. You¡¯re not in your right mind. Anyone can be made to do terrible things they don¡¯t want to do with enough brainwashing and drugs, and believe me, I know what drugged out of your mind looks and feels like. You¡¯re high and drunk and brainwashed. You need to detox and come back to us. Go back to being Mikey. You¡¯re safe here, she can¡¯t get to you.¡±

    ¡°She already has me. You make a deal with the devil, and you can¡¯t just back out while the devil is still alive to claim you.¡± He smiled.

    ¡°So why didn''t you just kill her ass? You killed some of the meanest fuckers alive in that safehouse, while drunk and armed with home-made shit. Why can¡¯t you kill her now? She has to sleep some time, when she does, you just shoot her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve tried.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve shot her in the back, and the head, slit her throat. I cut her heart out of her chest and dismembered the body. She doesn¡¯t stay dead very long. She¡¯s not a killer corrupted by evil, she¡¯s not human¡­anymore or ever.¡±

    ¡°Mike, you have been fucked up and sleep-deprived, hallucinating. Damnit the demon thing isn¡¯t real.¡±

    ¡°You of all people know better. You¡¯ve seen what¡¯s inside them. That blackness, the heat they give off, those were just people with something IN them that altered their flesh. She¡¯s not a possessed person, she¡¯s evil that grew her own flesh.¡±

    ¡°¡­nobody saw that but you. The black heart, the glowing in the thermal scopes. Nobody but you saw that because it¡¯s not real. You¡¯re not well. I lied because I wanted you to feel safe with me because you were doing the right thing, killing people who were evil. I wanted to believe, I almost did, but there¡¯s no voice, no glowing demons. Nadja is just a Russian spy and a master manipulator. She¡¯s deadly and buttfuck insane, and yes, pure evil. But she¡¯s human. She¡¯s just¡­human, Mike. You¡¯re delirious. She¡¯s hypnotizing you. You¡¯re mentally ill and on a ton of drugs, under her control. Just stop.¡± She said, as he looked shocked and defeated, staring blankly at her and fighting his own surge of emotions.

    ¡°You never believed any of it, did you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I believed some of it, I doubted some of it, you said faith is having doubt and doing what¡¯s right anyway, so I never really believed all of it, but I believed in you, always, and even now. You¡¯re special, you¡¯re the best hitman out there, and you chose to do good¡­when you were yourself. When you¡¯re riding that line of sanity and in control, not battling your own psychosis and her tricks.¡±

    ¡°Tanner, this isn¡¯t you either. You had faith, you were doing my work and taking my place, and you still will, when you finally believe and when you¡¯re ready. You¡¯re never ready because you don¡¯t believe yet. You will. You¡¯ll see. You have doubt, and it¡¯s my fault you lost that faith because I let you down. I¡¯m sorry, but I thought I was meant to teach you until you were strong enough to replace me, but I have a different path you can¡¯t follow me down, and I see why now. You don¡¯t believe yet. Don¡¯t tell me you never did and never saw those things, you were so close and you just¡­weren¡¯t ready. Maybe this is a test for you, maybe I didn¡¯t train you well enough, I failed you, or part of the great plan was always for us to be broken apart, but please never lose your faith, Tanner!¡± He yelled. She threw her arms up in frustration.

    ¡°I can¡¯t. I just can¡¯t do this. I don¡¯t know if you need to detox and sober up to listen, or if you¡¯re really just too far gone to save now. You¡¯ve killed innocent people with Nadja, FOR Nadja. Just cops doing their job, not crooked cops working for the criminals. Strangers, not pedophiles and rapists and the monsters you used to hunt, just people. You think now you can see evil without even using the scopes? How do you even know?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Because it keeps working. It¡¯s not paranoia if you¡¯re right, it¡¯s just being prepared. You¡¯re not crazy if it¡¯s real, you¡¯re just enlightened or intuitive or informed. How did I know Carl¡¯s assassins were there before they even made their moves? How did a crazy man look into a scope and hallucinate an enemy, if the enemy turned out to be real? Coincidense? Insanely good luck? Maybe once. But not every time. I took out every one of the 8 bodyguards at the concert in the dark, with a single shot to the head, because I can see them in the dark. They were working for Sage Ember, who is the promoter and backer for the most corrupt politician in the country. She needed to die, they were her chosen security, not the venue security.¡±

    ¡°You killed a singer because she took money to shill for a candidate¡­the one who¡¯s clearly a Russian sympathizer¡­wouldn¡¯t that be a GOOD thing for Nadja? Wouldn¡¯t that benefit her to have her alive?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°I chose the targets, not her. I¡¯m working her as much as she¡¯s working me, trust that my soul is stronger than her. That my faith is¡­ not me. I¡¯m willing to die for this, because it¡¯s my job.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Just, listen to yourself. You took out 8 security guards with impossible headshots in the dark¡­according to who? You were the only one who was shooting. Maybe you saw the first few security guards wearing uniforms before the lights went out and just knew where they were, maybe the others were just people in the crowd you shot because they glowed in your mind. How do you know? How did you confirm there were 8? How do you know you didn¡¯t just kill the only 3 guards and then just murder 5 innocent people on faith? You¡¯re the only one who saw Nadja die and come back. What if you dreamed it? What if she just told you it happened while you were asleep and drugged or hypnotized, or while you were fucking magic Russian pussy delirious? The pussy can¡¯t be THAT good. Who saw her die other than you, Mike?¡±

    ¡°The hotel maid saw her body tied to the bed and throat slit. After the mayor execution.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°The maid that was found dead? The dead girl saw you kill Nadja, or you killed the maid and Nadja told you something else? They found that girl in the hotel room with her throat cut, tied to the bed. It was on the news. Did she kill her and drug you, or did you kill her and imagine it was Nadja? Did she just sneak up on you drunk and high on adrenaline and you reacted? Maybe you just saw a woman behind you and slashed, instinct, thinking it was Nadja, and your fractured mind didn¡¯t wanna think you killed some random cleaning lady so you dreamed it was Nadja you killed. Maybe when you sobered up¡­ there she was still alive. Lying to you. Did you tell her you killed her, or did she tell you that?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­remember that clearly. I remember going to the hotel, tying up Nadja, and I knew I had my chance then since the mayor was dead and Carl was dead. I could finally end it. She was the last loose end, and I killed her on the bed and I felt¡­horrible. Like I made a mistake. But there she was right after. Alive. She killed the maid before I could stop her. And then everything got blurry and I woke up. But it wasn¡¯t an isolated event. We hit a gas station the other night, Carl had assassins waiting for us. They probably had orders long before he was dead. Still ready to strike. She killed the lights, I shot all of them, Nadja killed the 2 innocent people in the crossfire. I can¡¯t control her when she gets like that. And afterwards we celebrated, we drank, and part of me was pretending to celebrate and drink away the guilt that 2 people died that didn¡¯t have to. Part of me was celebrating taking out Carl¡¯s men. I had to fake it for her. I waited till she was distracted and took the new gun. Big 45 blackouts and an expanding 7mm hollowpoints. Shot 2 in the back, one in the head and I walked away. Nothing could survive that. Counted it down.  And she was just¡­waiting for me. Laughing at me. Bloody and alive. She fought and killed several Archangels not long after, and didn¡¯t even slow down. If anything, she was stronger, faster."

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    "Conveniently no witnesses?" Tanner asked.

    "That night we captured Sage. I didn¡¯t even drink, I filled a vodka bottle with water to stay sharp, and in the middle of a round of wild sex, tied up and vulnerable, I stabbed her in the heart. I cut her heart out to see that it was black and decayed like the other one that ¡­I know you saw. Remember Joe, the child predator?¡± He explained. ¡°Except Joe stayed dead. She didn¡¯t. She followed me to the lake like nothing even happened.¡±

    ¡°Mike, I cut Joe''s heart out myself to find out. He deserved it, but it was just a human heart. YOU saw it black and decayed, turning human again when it stopped beating. I just saw a human heart stop beating. Mike, honey. The gas station massacre was on the news. 6 people dead in the building. Just normal people, not assassins, and 5 dead vigilante archangels outside. They found a girl down the road dead too, she was just the attendant who ran away, 45 blackout rounds in the back, one in the head. Don¡¯t you understand what¡¯s going on? She¡¯s feeding you lies and booze, we found PCP and cocaine in your jacket. She¡¯s getting you ripped high off your ass, and instigating murder sprees for her own enjoyment and when you kill someone you know was innocent, and start to sober up and realize it, you just¡­revert into some kind of delirious fantasy that you just killed Nadja, who very much fucking deserves that, so you don¡¯t have to realize you just killed regular people. Normal people. Not assassins sent by dead Carl. Not demons or Nadja, who comes back from the dead. You killed a hotel maid who probably startled you, you killed a gas station worker running away, probably just seeing glowing white demon shit, and you probably cut out Sage Ember¡¯s heart thinking it was Nadja. Nobody found her body. Which seems more likely? Drunk and high, on enough drugs to make a sane person see demons, fucking Nadja on some weird sex binge, and then she throws Sage Ember dead on the same table and whispers in your ear to kill the demon, so you cut her heart out, and then when you realize sobering up what she made you do¡­your mind just copes with it, telling you it was all Nadja, because deep down you CAN¡¯T kill her. You¡¯re under her control. You know that, you know she¡¯s worked her way in your mind so deep you can¡¯t do it, so you imagine it, and see her reviving as she takes the place of the people you killed.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, you¡¯re on enough drugs OD some hardcore addicts I knew, back when I was one. I don¡¯t know how you can even form sentences or stand up right now let alone shoot and fight, but I¡¯ve seen you do that before, drunk and stoned on like 5 of MY Percocet 10¡¯s and a 5<sup>th</sup> of vodka. With heart meds! That should have killed you, and you fought through a safehouse like a damn Viking lord. You¡¯re so¡­trained or engrained with that hitman autopilot when you can¡¯t even think, you just¡­auto kill. Except instead of driven by vengeance, thinking I was dead and mowing down a house of killers, now you¡¯re just driven by a Russian spy with probably Russian spy drugs¡­and you¡¯re mowing down whoever she tells you is the enemy. She¡¯s steering you like a tank and aiming you at anything she wants to kill. She¡¯s not immortal, she¡¯s just hypnotized you into believing she is. Please. Just. Stop. We¡¯re all fucked up, but we¡¯re a family, and you¡¯re home and safe now. This is the last chance you have, Mike, I can''t do this anymore. You just need to sober up and trust me. Have faith¡­in me. I¡¯m your Tanner, your buddy, your student. I used to be your girlfriend. We loved each other¡­remember? Before Agent Double-0-tits gave you the Russian sleep experiment LSD and turned you into an MK Ultraweapon for her sick enjoyment?¡±

    ¡°Tanner, I can¡¯t explain it. You want me to trust you and I want you to trust me, because we both believe we¡¯re right. Only one of can be right and if it¡¯s you then I¡¯m already too far gone, and I deserve to die for what I¡¯ve done. If I¡¯m right, then Armageddon is about to rise, and I¡¯m the only one that can stop it. I can kill her, nobody else can. I found the solution in a dream, but you won¡¯t believe me. There¡¯s no sane way to explain it, and you¡¯d be in danger knowing the details. I¡¯m protecting you, and protecting the world, and I hate that I can¡¯t save every innocent person in her path, but I can¡¯t. That¡¯s what makes me a monster. That¡¯s what makes me something you don¡¯t understand, and why you deserve better. I¡¯m the monster that sleeps with the devil and watcher her kill people, pretending to not care, so that she thinks she¡¯s won. And I¡¯ve gotten numb to it. If people have to die for the right moment to kill her to arrive, then I¡¯m sorry, but I accept that sacrifice. Watch the death of 30, 40 innocent people, or watch the world burn? I wish it wasn¡¯t the only options, but you¡¯re part of the world that will die if I don¡¯t do this. So I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m Mister Black AND Mike Finn. I¡¯m not her plaything. I¡¯m her destruction, her Judas, and sadly, the sacrificial beast that will die as penance for the sins that have been committed for this mission. By both of us¡± He said softly, looking cold and exhausted. Tanner stared with tears in her eyes, unable to process what she just heard.

    ¡°I just can¡¯t believe that you¡¯re completely fucking insane. Mikey, that¡¯s delusions of grandeur, it¡¯s a sign of schizophrenia and a sign of drug abuse and the Mike I know wasn¡¯t like this. I CAN¡¯T believe you¡¯re just a psychopath out of control. As a former addict, I know in my heart it¡¯s the shit she gave you making you like this, magnifying your wonderful crazy Mike stuff, into Mister Black, the monster with a god complex. Nobody could stay sane on the shit that¡¯s in your system. Nobody. You¡¯re just a man, a brilliant and slightly nuts, but good man, who¡¯s been forced into this insane shit that you never asked for. This is an intervention, a rescue detox. You¡¯re not leaving until you are clean and maybe medicated, maybe not¡­ I dunno I mean we can¡¯t take you to a rehab center, you¡¯ve killed like a hundred people. They¡¯d give you the death penalty, they won¡¯t understand, Nadja will just fucking vanish like a ghost and leave you holding the gun, and you¡¯ll get blamed for that shit too, everything. You just have to hold on and fight it. You¡¯ll sober up, you¡¯ll detox, you¡¯ll be okay, but it¡¯s not gonna be easy, and you¡¯re not gonna like it. But that¡¯s what friends do. We keep you out of prison and the lethal injection room, by locking you in a safe room till you get better, and we pray and have faith that you can do it. I believe in you. You¡¯re not gone, way down in there you¡¯re still Mike. The crazy is just too deep to swim through alone. I¡¯m fixing you, Damnit. And you¡¯re gonna hate this next part before you thank me.¡± She said, crossing her arms stubbornly through the tears.

    ¡°No. I¡¯m not. You¡¯re gonna thank me later, and you¡¯re not gonna like the next part. But even more than you, your boyfriend is gonna hate the next part even more. Sorry in advance, but he¡¯s gonna feel this in the morning. I¡¯m leaving, and he¡¯s going to try and kill me, and I¡¯m gonna have to fuck him up a little bit to prevent that. It¡¯s not personal. I hope he makes you happy, I hope you two are great for each other and have a life together, but he hates me because you still love me, and you would leave him for me even knowing what I am if I said I was better. And if he hates me now and can¡¯t help but throw a cheap shot at an old man tied to a chair¡­he¡¯s gonna REALLY hate me after this little act.¡± Mike chuckled. She stood looking blank. Distant, void.

    ¡°What? You gonna break those police issued handcuffs and tear that steel chair apart, Hulk-smash through a concrete wall and sucker punch Alex on the way out? You¡¯re gonna hurt yourself trying, maybe fall over, break your own wrist, maybe just give up. Please don¡¯t make me taze you, it hurts, and it¡¯s humiliating. Just stay there, please. For me?¡± she asked politely.

    ¡°Sorry. Voices are very clear on the instructions, and you know I follow orders when they give them. Even if you don¡¯t like it. You may wanna restrain Alex, actually, I don¡¯t have to defend myself if he¡¯s in one of these chairs too. He¡¯s not getting out of one, even if he does have the magicians hat and eyeliner. You know what¡­send in big ol Yuri instead. He¡¯s a challenge for anyone, he can take a beating better than little Alex, and probably be fine. It¡¯s really your choice who you¡¯d rather have guarding me when I break loose. Who do you want hurt? The Russian tank you don¡¯t love, or the hothead loose cannon boyfriend who¡¯s gonna get broken ribs for your honor because you know he doesn¡¯t know when he¡¯s outmatched. He¡¯s in love. Like you. Love makes you do stupid shit and get hurt.¡± Mike said with a smirk. "Like sell your soul."

    ¡°I hate it when you¡¯re right, Mike. You¡¯re delusional and high and out of your damn mind, but you¡¯re right about one part. One of you is going to do something stupid, and I have to separate you two boys. I¡¯ll remind Yuri he can¡¯t kill you, but if you do something stupid he¡¯s got permission to defend himself, and he¡¯s bigger and younger than you, and you¡¯re cuffed to a metal chair. You wanna make a deal? I¡¯ll keep Alex safe from you if you keep yourself safe from Yuri. He promised he wouldn''t kill you. He never promised not to beat your ass.¡± she said, teeth gnashed.

    ¡°How about I just reject that offer and leave, and you decide who you want me to fuck up on the way out. No negotiations. Just you and a choice. I¡¯ve made all of mine and nobody is going to stop me until God decides I¡¯m done. I got a few more people I NEED to kill before that¡¯s over. None of them in this house. Get everyone out of my way, or pick who gets in my way. That¡¯s your choice, Tanner. We both know what you¡¯re gonna choose. Bring Yuri. Tell eyeliner to sit his ass at the kids table. Tic-tock, Tanner. What''s the choice?¡±

 Chapter 13: Shifting

    Yuri sat in a metal chair in front of Mike, the door closed, so nobody could hear them, visible through the little barred window.

    ¡°So¡­we have problem.¡± Yuri sighed.

    ¡°You do, I¡¯m doing fine.¡± Mike replied.

    ¡°You know just like I do that she is dangerous, yet we both do what we must to protect who we love. Problem is that you¡¯re not crazy and you might actually kill her. I can¡¯t allow this. If she dies now, I lose everything. You don¡¯t understand, you cannot. You are machine that protects Tanner, and kills anything in your way. I am in your way right now. If I would let you go, you would promise not to kill Nadja, and you will just try anyway.¡±

    ¡°Not yet. I can¡¯t kill her yet. I promised her 7 human sacrifices and a dead president, and we have 2 upright sheep to go to the altar, and a very alive former president still in the running for election. After that, my deal with the devil is done and I then I¡¯ll kill her.¡± Mike smiled.

    ¡°None of this works for me. Kill 2 American celebrities, make speech, I will dispose of the bodies and we are still friends. If you kill Bloomberg and start a war, Russians will die. Men who don¡¯t need to die, one I care about very much, and I need Nadja alive a little longer. This is negotiation. I let you go, you beat me a little, you kill musicians and TV stars, we nod in passing as usual. Then you stall. You promise war and dead president, and you make excuses until I tell you that I have finished what I sold MY soul for¡­and then you kill the bitch. Or you try and she kills you. I don¡¯t care. As long as I am gone and safe, passports and guns. I made promise too, your promise makes mine not work.¡± Yuri proposed.

    ¡°Counter offer. I just beat the shit out of you as planned, escape, kill 2 more sacrifices and make the flag bleed red white and black on national TV, Kill a president, and then kill the bitch, and you just get the hell out of my way. Seems better for me.¡±

    ¡°You really want a war for her?¡±

    ¡°The end of days is ticking down, Yuri. The date is set and nothing can stop the events or delay them. You don¡¯t have to be here for it. Just leave.¡± Mike shrugged.

    ¡°You have money? Passports, witness protection? You have personal pocket president in Russia giving you favors? Because she has them and I need them or nothing matters. War here spreads to Russia, where I would be.¡±

    ¡°Yuri, you have one major problem with your negotiations. You assume I give a shit about you, or that you have anything of value to me. In order to negotiate, you have to have something I want.¡± Mike scoffed.

    ¡°You want Tanner. You want her alive.¡± He boldly said. Mike¡¯s eyes went dark and cold as he tilted his head and a strange, familiar look washed over his face.

    ¡°You really want to even joke about that, Yuri? Right or left handed?¡± he asked.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Do you shoot right-handed or left-handed?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Left.¡± He lied.

    ¡°Should have told the truth. I expected you to lie and if you had told the truth I would have assumed it was a lie, and break your left hand instead. You gotta learn when to outsmart people by being too honest. For even hinting that you¡¯d hurt her, I''m gonna break your fucking hand. If I ever hear you even hint again that you would harm Tanner to get to me, I¡¯ll kill you, slowly. I¡¯ll go to Russia and kill your family and your neighbors and your friends and your fucking dog if you have one, burn them all alive, I¡¯ll break your arms and legs first and make you watch from a chair as I do it, send you the videos. Mail you some fingers maybe. You think Nadja is evil, you haven¡¯t fucked with evil till you met Mister Black, and so far you haven¡¯t had to because..." he said blinking slowly, his eye color slightly different, slightly orange. "Because you kept it between Michael and yourself, Da?¡± he said, fading into a strange accent that Yuri knew far too well.

    ¡°What is this¡­mocking me?" Yuri asked, fear creeping up his back.

    ¡°schas po ebalu poluchish, suka, you fucking ape!¡± he said in Nadja¡¯s voice. ¡°And for mentioning such betrayal, you get to suffer, and since you lie like fucking idiot as usual, fumbling to reload magazine or get guns across American border, you get punishment. So say the word Tanner again to me, Yuri. Think it too loudly with ill intent, and I bring hellfire to your home and mail your Boyfriends ashes¡­but for your first offense, I only break your right hand.¡± He hissed as the lights went out and Yuri finally saw what black looked like. Mike opened his eyes, hands breaking free and leaping the metal chair. Yuri slid forward to block, Mike dodging the cold metal outline and targeting the warm red figure going for the door. Yuri swung a backhand with a knife, missing in the dark with aimless urgency as Mike carefully aimed and swung the metal chair, doming his bald head with the seat and knocking him to his knees. He stomped down to pin the knife, breaking Yuri¡¯s right hand in the process and taking the blade away.

    "WHAT ARE YOU!?" Yuri yelled, clutching his broken hand.

    ¡°Stay down or die.¡± Mike growled, accent fading away, putting him to the floor with an elbow and exiting the room. He darted through the dark stairwell as Tanner and Rowan got up, using their phones to see, and just hoping not to get killed in the disorientation. Tanner crossed her wrists, pistol and light now locked and ready as Rowan wished he carried a gun in the house, and made his way blindly to the stairwell for the weapon¡¯s locker. He tripped and ran directly into Yuri. Punching him in the face as a reflex.

    ¡°Fuck, sorry, I thought you were Mike!¡± Rowan gasped. ¡°You can hit me back later. Fuck, I thought I was a dead man.¡±

    ¡°You are.¡± Yuri said, grabbing his head and slamming it off the concrete wall, stomping his head as he fell to the floor. He stomped 3 more times until the crunch was enough to satisfy his rage. ¡°Take my secret to your grave, flesh eater.¡± He barked, heading down the hall and stopping in the dark. He felt eyes on him. Locked on his back, like an animal ready to strike, and he remembered the words Mike said. Stay down or die repeated in his mind and he slowly sat down on the cold floor, slumping to one side and laying down, the soft rustle of shoes sprinting the other direction as he exhaled with relief.

    ¡°MIKE!¡± yelled Alexander. Hearing motion and clicking on the scope of Tanner¡¯s Sig 556. ¡°I can see in the dark too.¡± He bragged, panning the nigh vision scope mounted on the loaded rifle. ¡°And I¡¯m quite dangerously armed.¡±

    ¡°That makes two of us.¡± Mike whispered from seemingly nowhere, a hand grabbing the barrel and yanking it to the side as 2 rounds fired, the magazine was yanked out and the scope turned off. ¡°Now that makes one of us.¡± Mike corrected. Kneeing him in the crotch and rotating the gun to slam the scope into Alexander¡¯s nose, flattening him out, dazed and weaponless. The barrel, still warm, gently pressed against his throat as he grabbed it and was unable to move it from the locked position. ¡°One round in the chamber left. Alexander Windrek¡­ Do you love Tanner? Would you die for her?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Without question.¡± He wheezed.

    ¡°Good. She¡¯s all yours. Learn to fight better you glamrock pussy, and take care of her. Because if you ever hurt her, I¡¯ll hang you from the steeple by your own entrails.¡± He said, knocking him out with a kick to the face, firing the last round at the ceiling and dropping the gun in his lap. Tanner rounded the corner and saw him on the ground, presumably dead, grabbing the gun and chasing the ghost to the back door. She turned and noticed the Taxi cab peeling out of the gravel drive, taking aim and seeing Mike and Nadja driving away, debating on how confident she could shoot one head without hitting the other, and then realizing the gun was empty.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°FUCK!" She yelled, shooting nothing, and noticing the breaker box open, tripping the main switch back on, as the lights flickered to life. She ran back inside and dropped the gun, falling to her knees as she realized Alexander was alive and moving, hugging him and startling him in the process.

    ¡°Oh my god, I thought he killed you.¡± She sobbed.

    ¡°I recall he did promise merely to beat my ass. Man of his word, that one. Respectable man of honor.¡± He groaned.

    ¡°Are you shot or stabbed or¡­anything?¡±

    ¡°My pride is as broken as my nose and glasses, otherwise I¡¯m just very fucking unhappy and do not desire to stand up yet.¡±

    ¡°Yuri¡­you¡¯re alive too?¡± she asked as he staggered through the hallway.

    ¡°Broken hand, I may have black eye or broken teeth. Rowan is dead.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s dead? Why is he dead?¡± she yelled.

    ¡°My guess is he did not stay down when Mike said to stay down. Everyone who lived, stayed down when he put them down. Mike is very honest about his warnings. Rowan is also gifted at pissing people off. WAS good at pissing people off. What does it matter? Mike is gone and we are in shamble.¡± He coughed.

    ¡°Can anyone drive or shoot? I can¡¯t do both, I just need one.¡± Tanner said, reloading in a frantic pace.

    ¡°Darling, I beg of you, remain prone and safe. Your kind and loving ex-boyfriend has just broken through steel handcuffs, broken through a large Russian man with a knife, a door, and a small gentleman with an automatic rifle and night vision, all armed, as he was wielding nothing but a voice and very stiff soled shoe. You may want to consider it a loss and consider adding a doctor to the household, because the only man here with any medical knowledge is apparently dead now. I remind you, dead, much thanks to your kind and gentle man of God with the utmost sanity and reason, far too drugged and restrained to be a harm to anyone, except for, a fucking Quartet of armed killers on home turf. May I suggest we instead try the tactic of tucking our tail and cowering like dogs?¡± Alexander coughed, staggering to his feet and wobbling.

    ¡°That man is not Mike Finn.¡± Said Yuri. "We took wrong prisoner."

    ¡°Do come again?¡± Alexander sighed.

    ¡°Michael Finn is dead or husk. Your preacher is very much Mister Black now. Everything he said, as crazed as it may have sounded, very much possible. I worked for the Devil for a while. She is not who you think.¡± Yuri said. "You want proof this is real?¡± he asked Tanner.

    Tanner leaned over a computer screen with a look of confusion on her face. As Yuri. Made an eyebrow scrunch as if to say, ¡°you see?¡± without saying a word.

    ¡°Oh, surely you jest?¡± Alexander scoffed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t believe me, why do I care? Evidence is on the screen and imprinted on your face.¡±

    ¡°This is a boot print on my face, not a stigmata, you fucking imbecile. I was bludgeoned by a man with much better fighting skills, not a¡­Zimey Goy¡­¡±

    ¡°Zmey Goynych. Russian Shapeshifting Spirit.¡± Huffed Yuri. Did you not say you shot Nadja at the football game? Did she even seem to care?¡±

    ¡°That is a fair point to make.¡± He sighed, looking like the was considering it. Tanner tossed her arms up in annoyance. ¡°Tanner, dear, I placed an armor piercing round directly in her back, and she barely even noticed. She was wearing a flexible corset, not a plate carrier. There was no metallic armor clink, just a forward stumble and a very angry look back. A look similar to the one Mike gave me. I am not saying this is proof, I am merely saying this is disturbing, on top of an already one-sided situation, you may recall we keep losing¡­ To a human, or on the off chance of supernatural evidence, a¡­¡±

    ¡°Zmey Goynych.¡± Yuri said, tapping the screen for Tanner.

    ¡°Yea, I can read a screen, dude.¡± Said Tanner, squinting to make sure. ¡°A demon with red scales with iron claws roughly translated to ¡°dragon¡±, that can shapeshift and change its appearance mannerisms of behavior, even take the form of household items in the presence of an enemy also found in Ukranian Mytholog-are you fucking kidding me right now? You too? What kind of drugs does she give you people?¡± Tanner yelled.

    ¡°You would believe if you saw what I did. That was Nadja in there. Not the body. Nadja is Zmey Goynoch¡¯s preferred form, apparently they can multiply or spread.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Are¡­you fucking shitting me? Demons and devils, but with Russian names now? People, there is an explanation that lies within the real world here, and it¡¯s called military brainwashing and drugs. Look. The cuffs were picked, not ripped open by demon force strength. He just had a lock pick or key on him. Nobody got tore in half or their head bitten off by a dragon, you got beat the shit up by a very highly trained assassin on cocaine, PCP, Russian vodka and the belief that he¡¯s literally a soldier for God¡­or the devil, maybe? Nadja is an operative, somehow even better trained, with better guns and funding, probably a degree in psychology and a degree in the power of pussy. We¡¯re all just mid-tier killers NOT under the delusion of godlike powers, NOT on performance enhancing drugs and NOT, I assume, raised from birth to be some killing machine for the Russian government by her grandfather. YES, we are in over our heads and apparently screwed, and YES, we are fighting some serious monsters, but not literal monsters. Wake up Yuri. She drugged you too, she fed you Russian orthodox mythology and scare tactics, and now you¡¯re scared. We¡¯re all scared. Can we PLEASE be the group of killers that¡¯s still sane and rooted in the real world here?¡± Tanner said, almost in frustration tears.

    ¡°Then we have no chance.¡± Yuri sighed. ¡°To be bluntly about it, You are little girl who stabs people, Alexander is fucking joke, Rowan was wealthy spoiled shit, and we may be better without him, and the only real killer here is me, with a broken right hand telling you we are committing suicide by going after. Mike is gone. Maybe you should wake up. Even he told you that himself. Or IT did, using his body.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡± Tanner said, fuming and clenching her fists to not snap and throw the laptop. ¡°You are right about one thing, though. Mike is gone. That was my last desperation hope, capturing him and letting him detox. He¡¯s with her, and he¡¯s not coming back. I¡¯m an idiot and I got everyone injured for trying to save someone who can¡¯t be saved.¡± Tanner barked.

    ¡°Injured or dead.¡± Alexander muttered.

    ¡°Oh fuck Rowan, nobody liked Rowan anyway, he was totally gonna kill and eat someone eventually. We all know he almost certainly fucked the dead bodies. Everyone got that vibe. I¡¯m not feeling bad for that hit to the team, but I actually like Yuri for some reason and I¡­I love you, Alex. I thought¡­¡± she said, breaking into tears. ¡°I thought he killed you for a moment¡­ and I can¡¯t handle that right now. He just looks like Mike and sounds like Mike, and he¡¯s not Mike anymore. I loved Mike, and she took him, and now he¡¯s not coming back. He¡¯s so mentally broken that he¡¯s killing people for no reason, blaming it on the devil, while fucking the devil, and doing her bidding and he genuinely can''t even grasp that he¡¯s the one killing those people. Even if he did come back, the guilt would ruin him, and he¡¯d never be Mike again. He¡¯s a wanted Terrorists leader, Jesus fuck, why am I trying to save him? Nadja already killed Mike. She just did it mind and soul first and kept the rest alive.¡± She sobbed to Yuri.

    ¡°You are just describing my theory in different words, you know.¡± Yuri sighed.

    Mike adjusted his neck and glanced over at his master, eyes glowing in the dark as they entered the cabin of death they called home.

    ¡°I am proud of you, Michael. You betray your country and your god and your own soul for love. So very romantic.¡± Nadja smiled.

    ¡°Well, we both know what we¡¯re capable of, and as long as Tanner is safe, you get what you want. You break that deal, and I¡¯ll destroy everything you ever wanted. You know I¡¯m more dangerous than you, or you wouldn¡¯t have bothered buying me. If you were the baddest killer on the field you¡¯d do it yourself and here you are making deals, so that tells me I can do something you can¡¯t. You came to rescue me. You need me. I know you could kill Tanner if I betrayed you, so we¡¯re sort of in a stalemate on that, and frankly I¡¯ve become numb to it all by now. Some parts of it are just a job, and some parts of it are actually quite fun. So we both get what we want. You really think god matters to me if he¡¯s all in my head, or if I care about a few celebrities and rich pricks? I¡¯ve killed some of them before you forced my hand, what¡¯s the difference in the end. Wars happen, people die every day. As long as it¡¯s not Tanner, I¡¯ll cope. Simple as that. You won, as long as you don¡¯t get greedy and break our deal. I hear the devil is really a stickler for contracts and deals. You better hope that¡¯s true. Because I¡¯d kill a million people to save tanner, letting you kill half a million for her is acceptable. I¡¯ll just start the fire and watch. I thought I could just resist you, but the sad part is that I don¡¯t have to. I just had to negotiate.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re more like me than you realize. We make a very fitting couple.¡± She smiled.

    ¡°How¡¯s the back?¡± Mike asked. ¡°That shot looked painful.¡±

    ¡°Nothing to concern with. Nothing, you haven¡¯t topped yourself during foreplay. If you think eyeliner magician with 556 can stop me, then you must have forgotten your faith in the parking lot. Perhaps God picked it up for you and will mail it back. He seems to live there now. Homeless old man with nobody to save. Nobody wanting to be saved.¡±

    ¡°What about Gabriel? This Archangel you warned me about? He might shoot for your head, he did in both of the dreams.¡±

    ¡°The same dreams you remember killing him in, just before he could? Should we go back to the parking lot and look for that missing faith?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s something different. He¡¯s a believer to the core. What if he puts some fancy blessed silver bullet in your head before he goes after me, and I¡¯m the one who survives and you don¡¯t? Surely something can kill you, So even if I kill the president and kill him, what fun is that if you¡¯re not around to enjoy the victory.¡± He smirked. She reached back and grabbed the car keys from her purse and jingled them, tossing them on the chair with his coat.

    ¡°Make your own faith or retrieve it for me. Parking lot or bedroom, Michael, your choice." She said, getting up and heading to the doorway, turning back as she pulled off her shirt and paused a moment.

    ¡°I guess I just left my faith in my pocket after all.¡± He said, following her with a confident smile.

 Chapter 14: Spooked.

    Alexander sat on the couch, holding Azazel, left behind in the escape.

    ¡°We¡¯re not outsmarting this man, this is multiple levels of proof. We cannot outshoot him, we cannot fight him hand to hand, we cannot bribe or reason with him and we cannot contain him. His inventions are better, his illusions are better, he¡¯s stronger than us all. I now very much understand why he was able to walk into a safehouse with 30 killers and walk out unharmed, with a building of corpses in his wake. Now he is protected by something somehow even worse. And as you say, this is when he has left god in the parking lot. So do tell what miraculous things must be capable of if God bothers to tag along for a mission¡­or the devil, as she seems to do now consistently? What miracles must we perform to be even relevant to a plan that would so much as slow down their progress?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Shall we unleash an army of angels pulled forth from out of our assholes!?¡± he added as a knock on the door startled them all. Tanner grabbed her little red sub-machine gun and headed to answer it. She opened the door and stared in shock at 2 men in full Army ranger gear.

    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you just full of surprises?¡± Gabe said, trying to enter and getting a barrel to the face.

    ¡°Why are you just walking in, you don¡¯t just walk in, nobody invited you, why are you even here?¡± she rattled off.

    ¡°I followed you from what I assumed the news will call: the halftime massacre. Where¡¯s Mister Black?"

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t we all like to know?¡± she sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not playing games, Jill smith or Tanner, or whatever your name is. You shot him and took him, I want the head, and if he¡¯s alive, I¡¯m still collecting his head, just slower.¡± He said, looking very serious.

    ¡°Mike¡¯s not here right now, if you¡¯d like to leave a message, please find his ass and get it. Yea, I shot him, yea, we brought him here. Fun fact, he¡¯s gone now, I got a crippled team and a dead guy in the basement as a result, so this is not a thrilling time to fuck around with this. He¡¯s only getting further away as we stand here. We¡¯re not chasing him like this. Go. Go get him. Please.¡± She said, crossing her arms, red SMG dangling with attitude.

    I wanna know answers to a lot of questions, and I am prepared to get them by fo-¡± he said as Yuri and Alexander stepped out behind Tanner, A pair of CZ Bren rifles aimed at the Archangels faces.

    ¡°Please.¡± Alexander grinned. ¡°Do finish that statement. We have one body to dispose of already, it would be a shame to have to start all over later when we can just do 3 at once. Pretty please, with a cherry on top, threaten her safety. I could very much use the therapy of a quality headshot right now, and thus far none of my bullets are doing shitting fuck-all to Mike or Nadja. I would prefer to kill Mike, but you seem to be such a willing little mortal volunteer.¡± he said, clicking the selector to auto, purely for effect.

    Gabe and Dyson sat unarmed in some wooden chairs as the trio of armed killers sat across from them.

    ¡°Gabriel Thomas Gram, Army Ranger, 8 years, special operations in Iraq, counter terror unit, this is Charles Dyson, Marine Corps Force Recon, 6 years. We¡¯ve both seen active combat and specialize in some of the best weapons in the US military. I¡¯ve raided buildings with 20 armed terrorists and cleared it, without a casualty on the team, and I just lost 6 good men to one gray-haired psychopath and his Russian girlfriend. What in the hell are we dealing with?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°My ex boyfriend.¡± Tanner sighed. ¡°Trust me, at this point we¡¯ve lost more men than you. Long story short, Mike used to do something like you, he took down the bad guys, and he gave me the crash course on it, and then Nadja showed up, and he flipped sides. Nobody knows why. He turned on us. He killed our man in the basement, broke Yuri¡¯s hand, busted up Alex, and¡­he killed your brother. We lost a whole team that day trying to fight two of them. I know him better than anyone and honestly, I don¡¯t know what I really knew him at all. I don¡¯t know why he¡¯s that good, and nobody knows where Nadja even came from. The original theory was that she¡¯s the Russian president¡¯s daughter, Nadja Morozov Ivanova. Seeing as how, she goes by that name and claimed that. Except there¡¯s a few problems with that. Nadja Ivanova, died 10 years ago. Yuri dug up the records with a little favor pulling. We have no idea who she is or why she seems to have the backing and funding of a president¡¯s granddaughter, when she¡¯s dead. So some bitch with a stolen identity seems to have even the Russians confused, and now she¡¯s turned my Mikey into some fucking murderous monster. He¡¯s twice as good as he was before, except evil, those are the answers.¡± Tanner shrugged.

    ¡°Why was Caleb involved?¡± Gabriel asked.

    ¡°Because we¡¯re all criminals here, trying to fight the monsters in this world, and Caleb stole a car from a guy with a dead body in the trunk and was wanted for murder charges. We took him in, he wanted to help.¡± She explained as Alexander cleared his throat.

    ¡°Caleb wanted to impress Tanner. Our job in the¡­cursed courthouse trainwreck, was to dart Mike and bring him in, and Mike simply shot him first. No warning, no sympathy, shot to the head, and I received a lucky glance and played dead until he kept going. Caleb was dead before he hit the ground. Mike simply¡­does not compromise and cannot be bothered with anything in his way. Caleb was unlucky, twice.¡± Alexander said, looking agitated at the memory. ¡°I should have shot Mike in the back. I should have brought a real gun that day, and the moment he turned, joyously emptied the weapon into his back and danced in victory.¡±

    ¡°So what is he, former Green Beret, KGB spy?¡± asked Gabe.

    ¡°Plumber.¡± Tanner said softly. ¡°Fixed people¡¯s plumbing and¡­did some home gunsmithing in his van. Pastor before that. At least that¡¯s what I was led to believe."

    ¡°That bitch of his is sure something else.¡± Dyson huffed. I swear someone hit her that night we took them on, I figured she was done for. 2 days later, she¡¯s pulling a hostage from a shootout, not a mark, limp or visible problem. My buddy, God rest his soul, Jimmy Pitt, everyone called him Mad Dog,¡± he said, taking a moment to breathe. ¡°Brock said she killed him after taking a fully loaded m4 to the face. Brock¡¯s seen some live action in the Army, he wasn¡¯t exactly a greenhorn or some wanna-be nobody, the man had training and active duty, and he swore she wasn¡¯t human. He said she took a full mag without armor and didn¡¯t give a fuck, put 2 in Mad Dog¡¯s head.¡±

    ¡°Can we talk to him about what he saw?¡± Tanner asked.

    ¡°No... he¡¯s dead. She put about 15 rounds of 9mm in him earlier at the halftime fuckup. He was one of the best shots with a rifle I knew, and he didn¡¯t get a shot off or even see her coming. He was still in position, fully loaded, round in the chamber, safety off¡± He sighed. ¡°She¡¯s not a damn ghost, but she¡¯s good enough to scare someone like Brock, and I didn¡¯t know that was possible. I¡¯ve been in two firefights with her and still haven¡¯t actually seen her. I spent that entire first fight with thermal goggles on and only ever saw the preacher.¡±

    ¡°Because she doesn¡¯t show up in thermal scopes.¡± Tanner sighed. "Son of a bitch, Mike isn¡¯t joking.¡±

    ¡°You wanna run that back again and make it make sense?¡± Dyson asked.

    ¡°Mike told me she doesn¡¯t have any body temperature. He hunts with thermals, and he said once that she was colder than the surroundings. I didn¡¯t believe him, because Mike is obviously crazy¡­mostly.¡± She pondered.

    ¡°She is shape-shifting demon that hunts souls.¡± Yuri blurted. ¡°She has mine, I want it back. I want to go home to Russia. Why are we looking at me like I am crazy?¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Well, not long ago¡­¡± Alexander began. ¡°I would have insisted you are crazy for that statement. But then Mike pulled a miracle escape in the pitch dark, and I swear he could see me, not a shred of light in that basement, no optics, he looked right at me and disarmed me like I was nothing. And earlier today, I had a shot on Nadja. This very rifle here, a hundred, maybe a hundred and 20 yards, placed the dot on her skull and fired, the round hit low and center spine. She¡­stumbled slightly. She appeared lightly inconvenienced.¡±

    ¡°Body armor, bro. Always run black tips on a 556." Dyson sighed.

    ¡°Well, how fitting of a suggestion because I specifically received that very armor piercing round for the job, and she was wearing a flexible corset and a T-shirt. Pray tell... What, brand of Victorian gothwear makes a form fitting bulletproof corset that passes through a metal detector and stops an armor piercing round? And yes, I am sure I hit, I saw the fabric fray and the impact sent her staggering. She then simply regained her footing and waltzed calmly my way, blood stained center mass and returning fire. Naturally, I proceeded to fuck off vigorously and live to fight another day, just hopefully never with her." he sighed.

    ¡°Is everyone crazy?¡± Dyson chuckled sarcastically.

    ¡°You¡¯re the only one who hasn¡¯t seen her.¡± Gabe said. And you were wearing thermal goggles. I saw her very clearly, dodging gunfire and trying to kill me. I saw her with my own eyes and in the night vision scope, and then the preacher told me something I¡¯ll never forget: You wanna believe in hell? Switch to thermals. He said it just as calm as could be. I expected to see him throw a molov or pull a flamethrower from his ass with that line. I switched to thermals and there he was¡­and there she wasn¡¯t.¡± he puzzled.

    ¡°Gabe, she just¡­hid somewhere. There was a second or two between switching optics, she could have run closer and ducked down, or got behind something in the dark we didn¡¯t see, some kind of barrier. We know she¡¯s insanely fast. Anyone that fast could cover some ground in the gap between moving the scope and getting the goggles up to that tiny damn window. Am I the only person in this room that hasn¡¯t lost their goddamn mind? Seriously?¡± he asked as the room got oddly silent. Tanner looked wide-eyed.

    ¡°I mean¡­everyone else here has met her, or shot her, or shot her a bunch, or watched her hypnotize their boyfriend.¡± Tanner shrugged. ¡°Soooooooo¡­¡±

    ¡°I was bodyguard for 6 months.¡± Yuri sighed. ¡°Believe me, I have seen things humans do not do. Horrible things. That was not Mike in that room. It was her, shape-shifted, or¡­speaking through him. Possessing him. You do not forget those eyes. There is nothing behind them but blackness and hellfire.¡±

    ¡°Gabe, bro. You¡¯re spooked. I get it. We all are. I was there. Some weird shit went down, but these are a bunch of tweakers telling ghost stories because they got their asses kicked by a pro.¡±

    ¡°Damnit Dyson, so did we, so why are we spooked? Why are WE, the only two left alive of a trained fucking team of vets, who got the drop on them, from an armored vehicle with enough guns to bring down a 30 man insurgent cell, and we''re spooked by a skinny Russian girl who fucked us all up with a damn pistol? Explain that.¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°Man, I can¡¯t. I got nothing, and I know you believe in all that churchy stuff, Gabe, but wake up. She¡¯s flesh and blood, and body armor and some kinda crazy training, not magic devil shit. Fucking A, Gabe. She had support. That preacher had like 5 guns on him, probably armored to the hilt, there was a sniper somewhere throwing some big damn lead we just didn¡¯t see. He had a crew and someone with an anti-material rifle.¡±

    ¡°He had this.¡± Tanner said, plopping Azazel on the table. ¡°Just them, and this. He made that. One man with that and a pistol, something like this, probably.¡± She said, taking out her gun and kicking out a round on the table. ¡°With bullets he invented himself. He used to make me guns too.¡± She said coldly. Gabe picked up and inspected the gun in awe. Checking the 3 magazines and placing the bullets on the table in a row.

    ¡°This keeps getting weirder and weirder. I can¡¯t even identify one of these calibers. Gabe sighed.

    ¡°This¡­¡± Alexander sighed. ¡°Is the most complicated gun I have ever seen, or fathomed in my life. It uses a single fixed axis of aim for everything, two moving barrels, both chambered with some insane long 45Acp, one necked down to 7mm, machined from a single piece of what I assume is some incredible steel to hold the power of the rounds. It has not two, but 3 magazines of 3 entirely different kinda of ammo at once, loads off the same bolt and carrier, operating off 3 sets of recoil springs that rotate with the barrels. It operates as an open bolt OR closed bolt gun, depending on whether this set screw is engaged, so you can change calibers without ejecting the round and wasting a shell. Integrally suppressed, both barrels operate off the same suppressor and the gas system aligns with whichever barrel is not currently in the axis of shot. The sights fold, the grip folds, they both deploy when the bolt is moved, a bolt handle that not only rotates and changes the barrel with selected caliber but also uncovers the corresponding magazine to fit the correct barrel, so no matter what you do you cannot load the wrong bullet in any magazine but the one intended, into the slot intended, that automatically ends up with the barrel intended when the lever is set to the intended position. This top magazine holds Seventy-Five, fucking, rounds... of your beloved 7mm pistol caliber he invented along with the other¡­4 in the gun, presumable a dozen more knowing Divine Michael¡­¡±

    ¡°Mike. Michael was his grandpa.¡± Muttered tanner.

    ¡°Thank you for the correction, we wouldn¡¯t want to be rude to the man who is reeking terror on the country for what might be the literal devil in the dead flesh of a Russian girl.¡±

    ¡°Sorry. Old habit.¡± She muttered.

    ¡°The point I¡¯m trying to make is, this man invented new materials to invent an entirely new system of ammunition, and a gun that takes any of them you could want. This to me looks like an armor piercing round or something for very long range, this one I believe is a shotgun shell. What do we have here, why it¡¯s a massive fucking solid copper round that looks to be for killing elephants behind concrete walls. I have no better theory. This one is ribbed for someone¡¯s pleasure, what does that do? Nobody knows but him but, it¡¯s intentional and there are 5 of them in the magazine, identical and detailed."

    ¡°I¡­¡± Tanner shrugged, ¡°Probably something subsonic. Mike loves his silent high-powered, high mass rounds¡±

    ¡°See?¡± Dyson shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s got Russian spy shit like that, and you people don¡¯t think they got flexible body armor you can¡¯t get on the market? They¡¯re kitted up like crazy. We need a damn 50 cal.¡±

    ¡°Carl had a 50 cal.¡± Tanner sighed. ¡°And a team of like 12 killers. Oh, he¡¯s dead too. He never brought it back. I think he sent like¡­a whole team of merchants after them at a hotel once. Spoiler, you''ll never guess this part. They¡¯re all dead.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen that security camera video.¡± Said Gabe coldly. ¡°I have some freeze-frames on my laptop that will give you nightmares.¡±

    ¡°This is so stupid. You wanna dip the guns in holy water and spray garlic on your armor to ward off the vampires, be my guest, whatever helps you man up for this shit, but I guarantee you put a round in her head, she drops like a rock, blood and brains, man. Say whatever prayers you need to, fucking paint crosses on the bullets if you want, wear some amulets, I don¡¯t care. She¡¯s not immortal. She¡¯s half human and half narcotics. Nothing about this bitch is supernatural.¡± Dyson scoffed.

    Nadja sat squatted in the dark, her pupils locked forward, shifting slightly in the light of the full moon from the window, reflecting orange as they moved from a small open cage on the windowsill to the vodka bottle next to it. Two Recluse revolvers filled her hands, wrists resting on her thighs as the guns nearly touched the floor. She closed her demonic eyes and exhaled slowly and quietly.

    With both eyes still closed, she extended them outward in both directions, and fired 6 shots in nearly perfect unison, standing up and checking her aim. She sat down one revolver and traded it for the bottle of vodka, counting the dead mice up to 5, and hearing the squeak of one still moving. She reached behind her back and silenced the last one. Feeling annoyed.

    Mike Tinkered in his workshop to the sounds of Dark blues, as she entered, and harshly sat down one revolver.

    ¡°This one is off.¡± She said firmly. ¡°A half-inch at 16 feet in the worst cases.¡±

    ¡°Damnit.¡± Mike huffed. ¡°I was afraid of that. Unfortunately, if I attach the sight rail permanently, then it won¡¯t fold up. So I guess that one just stays with me. Doesn¡¯t do any good to have a gun that fits in a shoe, if you have to bore-sight it in every other time you re-assemble it. The other 2 work fine, I¡¯ll just take that one. I actually have to aim to shoot things anyway. I can use this one.¡± He sighed, marking it with yellow tape on the barrel.

    ¡°You can¡¯t fix it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s 9 thousand dollars a gun to make new ones, and they¡¯re made of very time-consuming layered plastic and spider silk cloth. They come out as straight as they come out. One of them isn¡¯t returning to zero. What do you want me to do? I can¡¯t make any more, there¡¯s no more spider-silk fabric left. You broke the other good one, we got 4 left, and one of them is just not fitting tight enough for your tolerances. I¡¯ll take that one as my spare, my main one is fine, you can have my spare, it zeroes great. We both have 2." he said, looking pissed off.

    ¡°I assume getting Azazel back is not an option?¡± she sighed.

    ¡°No, that¡¯s theirs now. I¡¯ll just go back to the MPX and carry a barrel change for the 450 blackout. It¡¯s less convenient, but it works. Nothing has changed, the same people will die, there just may be a slight delay in the reload time, occasionally.¡± He confidently smirked, placing the yellow tape marked gun aside. ¡°Old Yeller here will be for close kills only, I guess. Fine with me.¡±

 Chapter 15: Full-Proof Plan.

    Nadja sat in Mike¡¯s workshop, carefully fine-tuning some set-screws on her sights. Mike walked in, setting down a plate of eggs and bacon for her, as she smiled back.

    ¡°Now who¡¯s the obsessive tinkerer toiling away?¡± He grinned.

    ¡°I needed sights put on. We have last minute jobs, and you almost never sleep. I didn¡¯t want to wake you.¡± She yawned.

    ¡°Been up long?¡±

    ¡°Yes. You work much faster than me on these.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°Here. Eat, let me do it. I don¡¯t know why you insist on having these fiber optic sights on every one of your guns. Half the time you don¡¯t even look where you¡¯re shooting and still hit your mark, and most of the work we do is at night anyway.¡±

    ¡°Creature of habit. I like my things the way I like them.¡±

    ¡°So the fact that you exclusively use these orange fiber optic sights on every gun of yours religiously, literally, has nothing to do with the fact that they¡¯re from a company I¡¯ve never heard of, called Lucifer Optics?¡± he smirked. "Nothing symbolic or poetic, you just insist on?"

    ¡°They have hellfire orange. Shows up better in low light.¡± she growled.

    ¡°Right, nothing symbolic there. It¡¯s pretty funny.¡±

    ¡°What is¡­my sights?¡± she said, scrunching her eyebrows.

    ¡°You make fun of me for my little rituals, but you have your own. I¡¯ve seen you do your reflex meditation in the dark, your absolutely microscopic nitpicky adjustment to the sights you almost never even use, the way you change your nail polish accents before every big mission. I guess I¡¯m just asking myself why the devil has so many quirks. The story of when you were a little girl and learned to shoot with a paintball gun, was that just bullshit you made up, or did the devil who can write her name is cursive with a handgun, need to learn to shoot when she was younger? I¡¯ve looked into your past, you know. Off public records. Pulled some strings. Nadja died in 2015. Killed herself after her prom shootout. She took a Five Seven and turned it backwards, put one in her left lung, right where your scar is. Funny how I can cut your head off, and you come back with no marks, but that scar never fully healed.¡±

    ¡°What is your point, Michael?¡± she said, looking annoyed.

    ¡°My point, is that you didn¡¯t crawl from hell and grow flesh as you reached the surface. Nadja was once a person, just a very disturbed girl who tried to shoot herself in the heart after getting it broken at her prom. Did you kill yourself, successfully, and that just left the perfect body to take, and then whatever took it over killed those people, or did Nadja make a deal with the devil after she killed those people and her suicide was just the signature in blood for immortality? I¡¯ve called you Nadja since I¡¯ve met you, and you¡¯ve never once asked me to call you something else, despite calling me Michael no matter how many times I told you that was my grandfather¡¯s name. Then you gave me the nickname Mister Black, which I hated.¡± He smiled kindly. ¡°There¡¯s an evil side to you, for sure, something that takes over in your eyes, like mine probably do when I¡¯m drinking and killing. But I¡¯m not the devil. I¡¯m Mike Finn with something bonded to me. And ever since I signed away my soul to you, my vision is better, my reflexes are better, and I¡¯m faster. But only around you. It¡¯s like I¡¯m feeding off your power somehow. Now if you sold your soul over ten years ago, and I¡¯m this much better after just a few months¡­damn. No wonder you can¡¯t see it.¡±

    ¡°What can¡¯t I see, Mister Finn?¡± she asked coyly.

    ¡°Nadja Ivanova didn¡¯t disappear and let the devil wear the skin. She just let the demon bond with her so long, she doesn¡¯t know where she starts and it begins. You¡¯re not the devil. You¡¯re just like me. A person slowly blackened by whatever sits in the hole where your soul was, but some of Nadja remained. I can''t believe the same devil that tempted Christ has just always has a fetish for rose gold and Champagne pink glitter, had to learn to shoot a paintball gun, and fell in love with a Russian boy at her school. There¡¯s still some of that person in there, your rituals, your quirks, and that¡¯s what¡¯s always bothered me. How could I fall in love with Satan, some ancient entity that eats children and cares about nothing, and why do all the things I love about you seem to be just strange little quirks of some Russian girl left behind? That accent, your tattoos, not exactly all satanic symbolism. A lot of Nadja never died.¡±

    ¡°You want to know the truth, plumber?¡± she smiled. ¡°I always had something inside me that wanted to drive, I just had to hide it. My own little Misses Black, if you will. That is the soul of someone chosen, screaming to be unleashed. I am not the same devil in your book. Like your God, it speaks through me, a voice in my head. You were never God in human flesh, Michael, you were a man with a soul, a little piece of your god inside you telling you to do good things, and like me, that soul was never meant to be there.

    We were born, incompatible with that soul. It fights you. We are all born bottles, vessels with labels and shapes and color, and what you are filled with makes you what you are, as much as the container. Some containers were never meant to hold holy water, they were meant to hold something that burns. There¡¯s a reason the monks called alcohol spirits, and why they abstained from it. A bottle meant to hold holy water will dissolve in spirits and fail. But a bottle meant for spirits and filled with holy water is just a lie, and the label knows it doesn¡¯t belong. The bottle builds pressure. You can fight the pressure, but it weakens the glass and some day you just break. Once you release that pressure and let it fill with what you were made for, you become what you truly need to be. The contract is not magic paper and legal document, it is a symbol of acceptance, and unscrewing the cap. You don¡¯t just turn over and pour out the soul. That would kill you. An empty bottle is a dead bottle, and a bottle half full is weak and lost.

    When you pour something else in, you dilute what is there and it overflows. And every time it does, it becomes less what it was, and more what you pour inside. It takes time. You kill, you pour in that demon spirit, you overflow, you add more spirit, and the contents become stronger and less holy water. You never wash out all of the water, it just becomes less and less until it doesn¡¯t matter. Eventually the contents match the label and the vessel, and you are¡­perfected. Not mislabeled and looking in the mirror reading that label, knowing it¡¯s a lie. I am stronger and higher proof than you, but you are growing. What you see when you look at me, is Nadja. The bottle that was never filled right. When you kill with me, you take a drink and taste what¡¯s inside. And that reminds you of what you are. We are different bottles made for the same spirits, and when we mix, it makes sense. Tanner is... American soda in American plastic soda bottle. She already is what she is meant to be, and you mix well and compliment, but she waters you down while you make her stronger. The label is never correct. At the end of the day, you are just ruining both.¡±

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°So your spirit and my spirit matches, but there¡¯s still too much watered down god in me to reach full proof, which is why I can see in the dark and put a 200 pound young Russian soldier into a wall at 51 years old, but I still bruise wearing a vest, and like a fucking hydra you can grow back a whole damn head. I¡¯m just enough spirit to burn the throat going down, but not enough to light on fire. That explains a lot. What broken preacher falls in love with the devil? But why wouldn¡¯t an evil possessed gunsmith fall in love with an evil possessed Russian killer?"

    ¡°You never considered that evil can love anything. It can, but it only mixes well with something of similar proof evil. God and the Devil are just words for good and evil, Michael. The fluid that fills all of us, in varying amounts and with different personal quirks for flavors. No singular beings. Your tinkering, my painted nails, just flavoring.¡± She said, taking a big bite of her food and smiling.

    "So I was never chosen by God. I was just built to kill. I chose who to kill to pretend I wasn¡¯t a killer. I was something different, something pure that doesn¡¯t burn the throat. I was just watering it down and wondering why the label never looked right. But deep down I needed to kill, so I kept finding reasons to kill in small doses. Adding a little more spirit to the mix every time, and then watering it down after with prayer, so it never gets stronger. So is there any way to just¡­speed up the mixing until it¡¯s right?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°Well, you could stop praying and watering down your kills each time, running off to church to kill a priest, and then ask god for forgiveness, and eventually you¡¯ll get there. Or you could just ask yourself what the fieriest temptation is that you truly want, and go for it. Not the most evil thing you can think of that makes you sick, but the most evil thing that makes your mouth water, that you only feel guilty admitting to. You don¡¯t want to set hospitals on fire or rape kids, those things disgusts you, not tempt you. But you live in a country of lies and forced fed shit and children''s fairy tales about freedom and wealth. A world where outside the lies, rich men bathe in gold, while hospitals burn and the politicians rape little kids. You have been force-fed God and country, knowing they are both sugar-coated lies. Why do you think I don¡¯t just kill a president myself? I could, I would enjoy it. But you¡­¡± she grinned, her eyes almost gleaming with a sort of sadistic truth to them. Mike finished her very thought without hesitation.

    ¡°I¡¯m tempted to kill a president. The idea of going to the top and finding the fattest liar and the biggest representation of this shit nation and blowing his fucking head off in front of the cameras and the flags waving and the hopes and dreams of sugar-coated lies just shattering in front of their eyes. And nothing brings a country together stronger than war.¡± he sighed. I wanna strengthen my home''s proof by letting it kill.

    ¡°What if I told you¡­¡± she smirked, twirling her fork, ¡°That it doesn¡¯t even have to be a real war? What if I told you, a manufactured war that costs fewer innocent lives than a real one could strengthen it more than a real one? That America, the commercial and brainwashed, would put down their phones and their reality TV and remember they have a spirit of their own, if facing Russia, even if the threat was never there. They weaken the people with lies, so empower them with lies. Right now Boris Ivanova is flexing his muscles and president DuPont is kneeling down to kiss the golden ass, but the people believe he is strong, and his enemies will think so too, if Boris, the Butcher of Russia, were to simply call it a draw. American needs to win a war, you need to start one to win one. Bloomberg is... pussifist idealist and spineless, too scared to even fight back if kicked. He is also too stubborn to play the game. Look at what our killing has created. Archangels in red white and blue, protestors chanting about freedom and waving guns just like old Soviet Union. Americans are only strong when they think they are at war. Give them what they need, and take what you really want. Proof yourself, Hitman. Holyman is the same coping mechanism and sad cowering pup as Bloomberg and his little green toy electric cars. American is coal and diesel and bullets and war. You have always wanted to kill the monsters, now you have teeth, go kill a monster in a suit.¡±

    ¡°Hell of a speech, but you have already sold me at mislabeled bottle. I just wanted to hear you finish it and see that little hint of heat in your eyes when they go from cold and dark to hellfire. Mike Finn may have fallen for Nadja Ivanova, But Mister Black was always just drawn to the flames. Shame I spent all that time building the deadliest pitchfork just to have Azazel stolen by the kids. I liked that gun. Wanted to use that gun more."

    ¡°Luckily, Mister Black is the real weapon, not the gun. I need you to run solo mission for me. Can you do this with old Sig MPX?¡±

    ¡°Yea, I¡¯ll manage. Who¡¯s the target?¡± he asked.

    ¡°You¡¯ll know when the lights dim. Let Mister Black draw to the brightest flame.¡±

    ¡°Why am I working alone on this one?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I need two hits at the same time; we cannot be there for both unless we split up. Trust me, your job is more fun than mine. You get close and personal, and I get impersonal shot at sniper range.¡±

    ¡°You might wanna practice your ranged shooting, you¡¯re still grouping wide at 400+.¡± He snipped as she smiled back with amusement.

    ¡°You really think this whole time, someone who can thread a needle with a pistol from 50 yards can¡¯t shoot the head off a man with a precision rifle at 900? Michael, really? Ye of little faith.¡± She chuckled. ¡°Just make sure the sights on my gun are perfect, Mister gunsmith. Let me do the rest.¡± she hissed playfully.

    President DuPont looked in the mirror, checking his suit and feeling rather silly picking an outfit that would just be struck with a blood-splatter paintball anyway the next day. Picking the cheaper suit might make it seem staged. He reluctantly chose his favorite, and placed it next to the Kevlar undershirt, with his pants and tie, and the American flag sunglasses. He muttered, reading his notecards and reciting the speech again to be sure, hesitating at the page 2 ending section marked ¡°Stand still, wave, paint bullet to right side of chest. Fake fall.¡± And he sighed nervously, still wondering if they hurt through the Kevlar. He waved and smiled, suddenly jerking and staggering as if shot, and catching himself. He repeated the action until he was sure it looked convincing.

    Mike stood in the mirror, looking at his jacket and deciding if he needed a thicker coat to hide the MPX better. He smiled and nodded as he walked by the mirror, quickly shouldering the weapon and dry firing, drawing the longer suppressed barrel and quickly screwing it in, taking a knee for a long distance shot. He sighed, already missing Azazel but remembering the movements of the old MPX. The hand remembers the weapon, but his was shaking slightly for some reason. He wasn¡¯t scared or nervous, he was fully prepared and ready, but his right hand kept vibrating slightly. He poured a glass of whiskey, shooting it back and trying to calm his shakes, realizing this would be his first real hit away from Nadja in a while. While she faked a hit on DuPont, Mike re-read his layout notes and felt a little but underwhelmed by the fact that he was given the easier mission.

    ¡°Baby Glock¡­¡± he sighed. ¡°What ever happened to rappers picking names that were supposed to be intimidating or personally unique. Koldblood Killa, Body Count, now we got Goddamned, Baby Glock, probably never held a gun in his life.¡± He sighed as Nadja chuckled and passed by. ¡°Why do I get the training mission again?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Because, Michael¡­you shake and question your shots over 500 yards, and if you miss and kill the wrong president, people would be very unhappy with you.¡±

    ¡°Which is why I would get closer.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°Security must be real, perimeter checks, the works. We cannot have conspiracy theories getting too close to the truth. Plus this rapper is big name¡­stupid name, but somehow well known. Big Bloomberg supporter. We must keep people confused and questioning everything. Everyone knows Mister Black takes his targets alive, and everyone knows Mister Black is the legendary killer. Standard security perimeter is 600 yards. Surely he must be able to take 600-yard shots. I¡¯m hyping your reputation while you provide doubt who was even there."

    ¡°Some days you have me wondering what side I¡¯m on.¡± He half joked.

    ¡°Our side.¡± She whispered, baring her teeth. "Whatever side we like best."

 Chapter 16: Freedom of Speech

    The air bumped with subwoofer bass as lights flashed, and Mike looked miserable, sighing with relief as the lights went back up and the show was almost over. He walked his way to a rear exit and was stopped by security.

    ¡°Can¡¯t go this way, emergency only.¡± said the man in the chair.

    ¡°This is an emergency, I forgot my daughter¡¯s gift in the car and I can¡¯t get Baby Glock to sign it if I didn¡¯t bring it.¡± Mike said, looking pathetic with his cane and extra frosty beard. ¡°Please, I paid for a backstage pass, she¡¯s in the hospital with a broken leg and missed the concert, so I recorded it for her and I wanted him to sign a couple bottles of his branded tequila as a gift. She¡¯s 29, I have pictures of her.¡±

    ¡°Man, I feel ya. But this is¡­¡± he said as Mike took out a roll of hundreds.

    ¡°Check me for security, I already got my wristband, you can check me again when I get back, check the bottles. I¡¯ll be 5 minutes. I have to do this, she¡¯s been having a terrible year with her mom dying¡­work has been rough, then she fell¡­¡±

    ¡°Okay, lemme quick check you, 5 minutes, I¡¯m checkin the bottles.¡± He agreed.

    ¡°Bless you.¡± He said standing for a pat and quick wanding.

    Nadja looked in the truck mirror, fake salt and pepper beard, and ski mask in her lap, almost passable as Mike from a glance, down to the padding and glasses. The DuPont rally in full glory roared in the distance, as a man in the driver¡¯s seat drove the news truck around. They showed IDs and made it to the parking lot.

    ¡°Now¡­you remember the lines?¡± She asked, tossing a pair of wire cutters in the back and putting her beverage bottle in the cup-holder.

    ¡°Yes I do. You¡¯re my cameraman, Ted, filling in for Joel if anyone asks, just please don¡¯t hurt my family.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°That depends on whether you do your job. I don¡¯t want to hurt them, but I will, if you do anything stupid.¡± She said in a strange southern accent, no hint of Russian bite or lisp, an almost passable masculine voice. ¡°Park there, in the handicapped spot marked reserved.¡± She said getting out a handicapped sticker.

    ¡°Why me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°You are a news reporter, nobody suspects. You have clearance. You have disposable cameraman. Approximately my size.¡± Nadja smirked.

    ¡°God, he had a family.¡±

    ¡°Well, I can kill them too if you¡¯d like, then I will leave nobody to suffer.¡± She shrugged. The News man sucked up his anxiety and grabbed his jacket. Nadja grabbed her laptop bags and they began walking the perimeter. She led him the long way around, looping near the outhouses and taking out a sack from her coat that looked like grass, draping it over one of the bags and giving it a hefty toss over the fence, mentally marking the location and carrying the second identical case to the main entrance.

    The security door opened with a knock as Mike returned with a 17x8 box with a passably printed logo of Baby Glock¡¯s signature Tequila, Nin9 Mill on the side.

    ¡°Yea.¡± He nodded to the walkie-talkie ¡°Yea he¡¯s chill. Just got some Nine to sign, he¡¯s good.¡± He said as Mike handed him the box to check and leaned in close, the guard flinching and grabbing his neck as Mike took the box back and stepped away, putting his sunglasses on him and leaning him up, arms crossed.

    ¡°Oh, the irony, if only this wasn¡¯t a 45.¡± He whispered as the man drifted to sleep, propped up like he was watching the door. Mike carried the box, making his way to the backstage signing line.

    Nadja placed the bag on the counter and walked through the metal detectors with Donnovan Roe, the locally known news reporter, sweating bullets and looking sick. Security checked the bag, camera and mic, laptop, inspecting them all and passing them with a little green tag for cleared. They proceeded to the open area and past a lot of people, paying attention to him and not Nadja sneaking behind the outhouses, she tucked the security tag in her pocket and scrunched down, quickly swapping the bags and walking along as if nothing happened, slowly and discreetly re-applying the green tag to the identical black laptop bag with some clear tape, and rejoining him as if just answering natures call. She nudged him to move along and handed him a hat and glasses.

    ¡°I thought you wanted people to know me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°To get in. Now I want you to blend.¡± She insisted, leading him to a shelter house off in the far corner of the venue. Nadja held up the bag with the green tag as the doorman waved them on and gave Donnovan a ¡°hey, I know you!¡± look, as they exchanged handshakes and smiles. Nadja kept her head down, her neon green Channel 8 hat clearly visible. They turned a hall and Donnovan did his thing again, getting right past the security on to the stairwell, and up they went, past the no-entry sign and up to the locked door to the roof access.

    Mike followed the line as a young lady peered at him oddly.

    ¡°Is that stuff any good?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s very effective. I would probably put it as my top 2 or 3 favorites of all time.¡± He smiled, cradling the hidden MPX proudly.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I should try some.¡± She nodded.

    ¡°Mined the upgraded edition, it¡¯s limited run, so sadly you can''t get this exact model, but the original 9mm is still very nice and highly recommended.¡± He joked, approaching the table

    ¡°What¡¯s up gramps, you a fan of the music?¡± Glock asked.

    ¡°Honestly no, big fan of the 9mil, I may have a drinking problem, but my girl really thinks you¡¯re the top of the list, and I¡¯m mostly doing this for her. I¡¯d love to get a signature and I actually have a gift from her, it¡¯s a necklace she made.¡±

    ¡°Ooooh, shit, always down for new bling, and I love to see people rockin the bottles. Respect the honesty, Gramps. Showin up for your girl, tight.¡± He nodded

    ¡°Actually, I¡¯d love to do a shot with you, can I offer your bodyguards a shot?¡± he smiled as Glock unwrapped the smaller necklace box and looked oddly at the dog collar, blinged out and accented in high-visibility orange.

    ¡°Kinda odd gift. Pour a round. Fuck it, we partying, but just one shot each, these guys are on the job.¡± Glock waved.

    ¡°Perfect, one shot each will due just fine.¡± Mike said, abruptly pulling the MPX and firing one 45 hollowpoint at each of the now identified bodyguards, the crowd scattering and Glock ironically unarmed, frozen in his seat in shock, Mike pointed the gun at the man on the balcony rail as he waited for the clearly unfit rent-a-cop to radio in the problem.

    ¡°We got 2 men down, one shooter, elderly white male, alone, He¡¯s got Glock hostage, I¡¯m unarmed.¡± He said, emphasizing the last part louder so Mike could hear it and hopefully not shoot him. It didn¡¯t work. Mike put a round through his head, grabbing the lady behind him by the shirt collar.

    ¡°Not you, both of you follow me or die, right now. That won¡¯t be repeated.¡± He said as the crowd cleared, his hostages complied.

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°Why me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t scream or panic, keep not doing those, and you¡¯ll be just fine." Mike chuckled.

    The roof access door opened as Nadja tossed aside her lock picks and shoved Donnovan out first.

    ¡°What are we doing on the roof?¡± he asked her.

    ¡°You are doing what I say, no questions or wife and daughter die, slowly, on video for the internet. Now listen closely. You will go back downstairs and socialize with someone, walk with them past the stairs and give them this hat. Sign it, tell them it¡¯s free, and make sure they walk out wearing it. Any man roughly my size. You will rush back to the desk and say your cameraman left without his ID and you are lost. Show them both, they will remember seeing that hat pass by and send you outside, So nobody is unaccounted for. Remember I have earpiece and you do too. I can hear your conversations. Do what I said. Leave and go back to the car. Await instructions, and when I am satisfied nobody is following me up, you are free to go, leave earpiece in, leave parking lot and drive away. Easy. Family will be safe and waiting. Nobody you love gets hurt. No questions. If I tell you to do anything different on the way out, you just do it. I am listening closely.¡± She informed. He nodded and made his way down the stairs.

    Mike made his way to the parking garage as the last of security and police arrived, fanning out into position.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your car?¡± he asked the woman.

    ¡°Floor down.¡± She panted.

    ¡°Hey pigs¡­ You see that orange shock collar on Glock¡¯s neck? That¡¯s enough C4 to make him a foot shorter, see this orange watch monitoring my heartbeat? I die, he dies. And the whole place is rigged with explosives, all the concrete supports, so we all die. Everyone, trying to get out of locked emergency exits and most of your security team, are standing in the kill zones. You may have me in your crosshairs, but if you pull the trigger, you kill 30 or 40 innocent people, and Baby Glock in the process. Go ahead, let¡¯s all go to hell together, see which of us is on the devil¡¯s good side!¡± Mike yelled. ¡°So I want weapons down and hands up, a helicopter on the roof, and I got you on camera. Anyone moves, the internet will know the police just got 40 people and a celebrity killed.¡± He hollered, as they all reluctantly lowered guns, and he moved to the stairwell, going down instead of up.

    ¡°You never getting out of here alive with me, they got cops following you all over the place.¡± Glock noted.

    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± He said, holding up the camera to record, and leaning in for a selfie, placing the Mister Black mask on and everything. He grinned and lifted the MPX to Glock¡¯s chin, cuffing him to a random car door handle, pressing record.

    ¡°And that, kids, is what endorsing crooked politics will get you. These celebrities you idolize, bought and paid for by the rich pedophiles that own your country, and lower your food stamps. They don¡¯t give a damn about you. There¡¯s no left and right, no good side and bad side¡­just evil. Evil rich men who want you desperate, and evil fuckers like me cutting em down like grass.¡± He finished. ¡°And evil prevails, pick your lesser!¡± he barked, covering the camera and firing a shot before cutting the live feed.

    ¡°FUCK!¡± Glock yelled, holding his clipped ear and head spinning.

    ¡°I¡¯d be very chill for a while if I wanted to live.¡± Mike said, leaving him and pushing the girl towards where the car was parked.

    Donnovan let out a huge sigh of relief as he got in the truck.

    ¡°Okay. I¡¯m back. You¡¯ll let my family go now?¡±

    ¡°Yes, one last thing. There is water bottle in a metal thermos left in cupholder. Do you see it?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°Yea. Black metal can with a red x on the side." Donnovan inspected.

    ¡°Read me the code on the bottom of the bottle.¡± She said getting out her phone and punching in a phone number, hovering over the send button.

    ¡°God it¡¯s really smudged and hard to rea-¡± he said with a subtle pop of smoke and a jerking motion, as he dropped the smoking thermos and flopped over the seat, blood dripping from his head, the thermos with a hole in the end rolling to the floorboard. Nadja hung up, ending the call and his life, all witnessed evidence of her voice, or the fact that she was anyone but a young cameraman in a bright neon hat. She dialed again and put the phone to her head. Hello Yuri. Yes, kill the family discreetly. Da. Your services are almost done. Good work.¡± She smirked, sitting back in the sun with her laptop case and a bottle of water, waiting for the President to begin his speech about how he will not tolerate vigilante justice or terrorism. She played some Russian opera in her earbud, checking the timer and patiently waiting on the long speech.

    Mike stuck a pencil through his shirt and reamed out a hole, ripping a blood pack with his teeth and making a fake gunshot. He closed the passenger door, removing the mask and hat, replacing it with a dew rag and fake blonde braids. He turned to the calmly cooperating women in the driver''s seat.

    ¡°Now listen carefully. Everything you saw was fake, tranq bullets, the fake collar, there are no bombs anywhere, but they don¡¯t know that. You¡¯re gonna drive out of here and tell them at the gate your husband was shot, you¡¯re taking him to a hospital, and they will clear us both, here¡¯s a fake ID, flash that and yours as we get to the gate." Mike huffed.

    ¡°Wait, it¡¯s all fake?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Of course. It¡¯s about the random money and the message; nobody¡¯s dying except a few pigs that refused to back down.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s so badass. So I¡¯m not in any real danger?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not unless you wanna be?¡± he smirked, wondering if he saw a glint of orange in her eyes or imagined it in the dim lighting.

    ¡°Okay, this is officially the best show ever. So that detonator is just a prop?¡± she asked with a grin.

    ¡°Shock collar for dogs, just gonna give him a little zap and scare, not a bomb in the building¡­see?¡± he said pushing the button, and her face waited for the sound of explosions. ¡°See? No bombs. Only one who noticed a thing, was Baby Glock, and Nobody ever died from a little shock collar.¡±

    ¡°I am so hot for you right now. I¡¯m Taylor.¡± she said, shaking his hand.

    ¡°Too close to Tanner, I¡¯m gonna pretend you said¡­ Rebecca. By the way, you are absolutely killing this role tonight.¡± He winked, taking a swig off a real bottle of Nin9 Mill, and noticing the slight orange in her eyes now clear and vivid. That icy cold smirk in her face that said she wanted him.

    Nadja¡¯s hand lifted to secure the black latex butcher gloves with a snap.

    She took a knee, placing down the laptop bag, unzipping it with a final look to confirm nobody was near. She flipped the top over, revealing a B and K folded rifle in industrial gray and urban camo, specifically selected to match the rooftop. She left-hand lifted the gun like a pistol, giving it a quick jerk and unfolding the stock from the receiver, the big scope already on. Her right hand blindly reached into the top of the bag, grabbing and playfully flipping a 16-inch barrel clad in carbon fiber, and began rapidly tightening it on the gun. The speech rambled in her ear, as she finished tightening the barrel with a firm torque twist, her left hand already grabbing the foregrip and dropping it on, clearing the barrel as her fingers buffered the impact, catching and locking it with the flip of a latch. She grabbed the suppressor, wrapped in concrete colored cloth and spun it in place, letting it stop and tightening it. The bipod legs flipped out, and she was armed in just 35 seconds. She smirked a little, knowing even the President would be caught off guard when her planned shot was a full minute too early to expect, making his reaction real.

    Her earpiece hummed to the speech as she waited, knowing she would have just a few seconds before being spotted. She double-checked her custom magazine, containing exactly 2 rounds of 6.5 PPC ammunition, she double-checked her scope, 3.1 mil elevation for 170cm drop, adjusting for wind and closing her eyes with the gun in her lap, her head behind the concrete post and the words counting down in the speech. The word ¡°integrity¡± rang through the earpiece, opening her eyes. The right eye a greenish-blue and the left one shimmering in the light with a hint of orange, she grabbed the rifle and put it to her shoulder.

    She took one breath through her nose and made one rotating motion, placing the rubber feet of the bipod down and landing almost on target, making one tiny adjustment with a subtle hunch, placing the crosshairs on his glasses, pulling the trigger, and reflexively left hand kicking the bolt up and back like a good soviet AK reload, following the staggering president as he rubbed his eyes and face, placing the second shot directly center chest, and knocking the wind out of him as he fell backwards. She rolled away from the rifle, as shots landed near the wall, Grabbing Mike¡¯s black Jezebel pistol and extending the folded stock as she made her way to the other side of the roof, a piece of printed paper with the small text: Fuck you was now all remaining in the laptop bag, as she left the rifle behind and casually stepped off the edge of the building.

    Baby Glock struggled with the collar as the police approached.

    ¡°Man, get this shit off me! Everyone else upstairs to the roof, kill this motherfucker and tell them I got shots off on the guy before he ran away.¡± He said as the light turned from green to red and with a hefty thump, baby Glock became a lot more limp and a foot shorter, the white car now rocking an authentic gangsta red bloodsplatter paintjob.

    Nadja closed her right eye, taking a shot with the unfolded pistol, and putting a round through the sinus cavity of the security guard mid-draw of his own pistol. She sprinted for the fence, climbing the outhouse and doing a running jump over the fence, and onto a parked car, to slow her rolling fall. She got about 150 yards and turned around, carefully shouldering the weapon and dropping the one witness in the area, reaching the News truck, and shoving the corpse aside, flooring the gas and making her way full speed at the wire perimeter fence. She aimed right between the 2 red flags she marked, where the fence was already cut most of the way up and plowing through, leaving the flapping section. While driving, she carefully touched her right eye and blinked a few times, flicking the blue contact lens aside and grabbing a purse with a contact case and eye drops. She made her way down the road, slowing down to normal speed as she merged to the interstate.

 Chapter 17: Citizen Cane

    Mike rode passenger-side down the highway, the blonde driving and looking bewildered. He checked his mirror for lights and sirens. Nothing.

    ¡°That was terrifying.¡± She sighed. ¡°Where are we going? You wanna stop at a hotel?¡± she asked.

    ¡°The plan was the cabin, not a hotel. You know, I perform better at home with my tools than improvising.¡± He said, still swigging on the bottle, and getting drunker by the minute. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I mean¡­it¡¯s a surprise, just follow the GPS¡­better?¡± he asked, chuckling.

    ¡°You¡¯re one unhinged son of a bitch, and I fucking dig it.¡± She smiled.

    ¡°You know, your acting skills are even better than mine. I don¡¯t mean to break the role-play again, but was your mission successful?¡± he asked. She looked confused and decided to play along, intrigued and toying with the dangerous renegade.

    ¡°Of course, Mister Black. Just as planned. We make a great team. I bet after that, you¡¯re gonna do some bad things to me.¡± She smirked.

    ¡°Horrible things. Unspeakable things, illegal in every state. I have the tools ready and everything, just like you wanted. Perfectly on schedule, stroke of midnight still the plan? How do you do it¡­look so different, yet so obviously desirable? Exactly what I wanted to find, without even saying it, you just¡­read my mind and stroll up to me with that look in your eye and that swagger that just says hurry up and do the job so you can fuck me. And you never break character.¡± He said, as his vision blurred slightly, pupils dilating.

    ¡°God you have a way with words. And what character?¡± she gasped with a fake look. ¡°I¡¯m Bonnie and your Clyde, your partner in crime and your hostage, Michael.¡± She smirked, eyes giving off the slightest hint of a strange animalistic reflection in the headlights passing.

    ¡°You do make it tempting to just pull over and tear into you like a Christmas present, but¡­it¡¯s always better if you wait till Christmas morning, isn¡¯t it?¡± he asked cryptically. ¡°Makes the drive seem longer though, seeing your present all covered up right there looking at you, nothing stopping you but a verbal agreement and a theme, knowing what¡¯s under the wrapping paper, knowing it needs to be the right timing, or it spoils the magic.¡± He waited, examining her shape.

    They hit the cabin door, already clawing each other¡¯s bodies, their tongues dueling in the dark, as they broke free long enough to get inside and close the door.

    ¡°To be honest, this is kind of terrifying, but I¡¯m not saying no.¡± she whispered, as he lifted her and made his way to the living room table.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it always?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°You¡¯re just¡­different.¡± She gasped.

    ¡°I¡¯m evolving, becoming a better monster. You do that to me. You know you do that to me, and you fucking do it anyway with that look and that outfit.¡± He breathed, checking the clock and tightening his grip on the table as he waited the last 4 minutes.

    ¡°So what''s next, Mister Black? Gun on the table? Handcuffs?¡±

    ¡°Too predictable, as you just proved. I never like to repeat myself. We¡¯ve done that before.¡± He hinted.

    ¡°Of¡­ course we have¡­ Now since everyone thinks I¡¯m your hostage and not your accomplice, I¡¯m not in any danger of going to prison, am I?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yea right, like you¡¯d ever see a prison cell. I¡¯d be amazed if you ever spent more than 15 minutes in questioning. I¡¯m the one risking prison time if you said anything. But you¡¯d never give up your favorite plaything.¡± He growled, watching the clock tick down as the sound of a car pulling up got their attention.

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± she asked, nervously.

    ¡°Probably Yuri, always showing up too damn early for work. Door¡¯s locked, he can just wait. He can wait all damn night for all I care. He wouldn¡¯t dare interrupt or even knock. He¡¯s got a radio in that car, he can stay busy till we¡¯re done.¡± he said, suddenly grinning and tying the ropes around her wrists, as she looked more concerned. He stood up, watching the clock strike midnight, a switch-blade clicking out into position in his right hand. ¡°Finally, time to open my present.¡± Mike grinned.

    ¡°She shot me in the fucking glasses!¡± Yelled president DuPont at the screen, and the face of President Ivanova, chuckling at the 2 stitches on the bridge of his nose.

    ¡°William, if she just shot you in the chest with fake bullet, how would the news cameras get the slow motion video? We gave you adequate body armor, no serious injuries. You are on national news and the internet getting a live round 2 inches from your head, a real scar on your nose from broken glasses, and a few bruised ribs. Nobody, not even president DuPont himself, is insane enough to let a planted shooter take that shot. It looks real, because your reaction was real. No acting, no doubt. Mister Black tried to kill you, and you narrowly survived. Congratulations.¡±

    ¡°She shot a live round at my face from 600 yards. That could have killed me.¡± DuPont barked.

    ¡°She only misses when she wants to miss. It¡¯s over now, you''re not faking anything, the video is viral, and your involvement in this is no longer in question. There are shooters everywhere, killing hostages and people backing both parties, real copycat groups. Channel 12 just aired an episode questioning whose side the Archangels are on, why they seem to have vanished just before your assassination attempt, and why the now publicly leaked secret leader, Gabriel Gram¡¯s younger brother, was involved in a murder and gang activity before he died. Everyone is confused, and the air is full of smoke and lies, William. You could shoot president Bloomberg yourself at the debate and people would question if it was actually you. Fortunately, we¡¯re not asking this. You just have to show up at the debate and take cover when the shooting starts. Archangels will be there, defending you from Terrorists, and the terrorists will be taking off Bloomberg¡¯s head, and missing you by 4 feet. Paid witnesses will say the terrorists tried again to kill you, and the Archangels you personally damned and offered a reward for catching, will be blamed for his death. Rumors will vary, witnesses will give different stories, and cameras will show nothing but shots hitting the stage and panic.¡± President Ivanova shrugged.

    ¡°Missing by 4 feet¡­just like how those harmless paintball rounds to the chest were going to hit me, and then that psychopath you give orders to, put 2 live rounds in my direction, almost hitting me in the face and actually cracking a rib.¡±

    ¡°You bled for your martyr status now, no need for a second time. Taunt them, show no fear, the next rounds will be much farther from you. Consider this a comfort, I have people capable of confidently shooting off your glasses at 600 yards and hitting the exact pocket a moment later, do you think these people could actually put you in danger at 200 yards, while intentionally missing you? They could shoot a toothpick out of your mouth from twice that far, being 4 feet off target and accidentally hitting you is hilariously improbable. Bloomberg won¡¯t be so lucky. Orders are not to aim for his glasses, orders are to aim for the eye socket, and with predicted votes now very even, be glad you have us on your side. Even the damn Archangels are accidentally on your side.¡± Boris chuckled. ¡°And we didn¡¯t even plan that.¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    The morning light shined through the skylight and lit the garage with a natural glow, as Mike carefully placed a long box on the table, the sound of Yuri¡¯s delivery service car driving away, as Nadja strolled in, robe and coffee.

    ¡°Very interesting night, Michael.¡± She sipped.

    ¡°Your timing is always truly a thing of wonder.¡±

    ¡°Da, I practice a lot.¡± She teased.

    "With acting skills like that, it¡¯s almost impossible to trust you to ever tell the truth. Fortunately, it doesn¡¯t matter. But I can¡¯t help but ask how you do it?¡±

    ¡°Do what¡­act?¡± she grinned, taking on a totally different demeanor and posture. ¡°Why, Mister Finn, whatever do you mean?¡± she said in an entirely new tone and accent.

    ¡°No, I mean possession. Do you have to physically make contact with them, or can you just become them from sight? Are you really shapeshifting, or just hypnotizing me into seeing someone else when I¡¯m with you? Are you taking over the dead, and then returning to Nadja, or am I killing Nadja and you just take the dead girl and become Nadja with that body? You never explain how it works. You take a hostage, you sacrifice the hostage, I get whatever form of you I want to play with, I kill you, and 666 seconds later you¡¯re yourself again, and Yuri takes the dead hostage away. Catherine took a 7.62 round to the face, and yet there she was on my cross, not exact, but definitely Catherine. You sure didn¡¯t capture her conveniently secret twin sister and possess her into going to that Blues Bar for me to hunt. Was she just a blonde that looked close enough like her, and after possessing the dead body, you twisted my mind to see the rest? Was it just Nadja in a blonde wig to everyone else at the bar, and only I saw Catherine?¡±

    ¡°Michael, if you explain the magic trick, it¡¯s not fun anymore. We have so much fun left to have, why ruin it with details?¡± She grinned.

    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to be the magician here. Makes me a little nervous when another magician has way better tricks. Ballistic loopholes, untraceable guns, seeing in the dark¡­far cry from shape-shifting, possession and animating the dead.¡±

    ¡°Give it time, maybe your magic will evolve and baffle me.¡± She grinned.

    Mike opened the box and laid out his final order. A look of confusion washed over Nadja¡¯s face.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a thing of beauty.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°I would be furious and disappointed if I did not know you, Michael. Many thousands of dollars and this is what you ordered? A piece of wood, a bucket of glue, and some wood stain." She joked.

    ¡°Oh, the irony of how close you really are. I promised you a president killing gift, and here is the final piece. A piece of Pao-Ferro wood.¡±

    ¡°It seems like there would be cheaper options, why wait so long for special wood when barrel is fancy spider-silk carbon-fiber anyway? And how you plan to get that close to your target does puzzle me.¡±

    ¡°Well, if I tell you the details, it ruins the trick. I can promise you, with this cane, getting close won¡¯t be a problem. This Citizen Cane is destined for murder, and it¡¯s gonna taste presidential blood soon.¡±

    Tanner and Gabriel sat at the computer, the rest of the group asleep or taking a break. She rubbed her eyes and scrolled more.

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s so obvious He¡¯s going after the Bloomberg at the debate, I just don¡¯t know how or what can stop him.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°We can, but not unarmed and if he¡¯s got guns inside. I still don¡¯t understand, he¡¯s been taking shots at DuPont and his supporters. Why do you still think he¡¯s after Bloomberg?¡±

    ¡°Because, I¡¯ve told you: DuPont is crooked and working for the Russians, and Nadja is either a Russian spy or a Russian demon. Those supporters were the distraction, it¡¯s double reverse psychology. The DuPont assassination was a fake. Look. The weapon recovered was a 12,000 dollar rifle just left behind. That¡¯s Nadja spy level disposable money, 6mm PPC shooting brass solids like Mike uses would have gone through that soft vest like butter. Mike doesn¡¯t miss twice, neither does Nadja. Look at the pictures, hands are too small, that¡¯s Nadja in a Mike suit, Mike did the Lil Bussy kill, or whatever the fuck his rap name was. Lil Infant, Lil Gat or something. It¡¯s all diversion and mind-fuckery.¡± Tanner sighed.

    ¡°Looks exactly like Mike...is she really a demon shapeshifter? Sub .5 MOA 600-yard shot with a folding briefcase rifle, you think she¡¯s so good she risked taking his glasses off with a round? DuPont isn''t a traitor, that was a real attempt on his life.¡± He insisted.

    ¡°Look at the slo-mo. Copper round, dark gray tip, not a brass solid. That¡¯s a softpoint round, not an armor piercing sniper round, that was intended to stop on a vest at 600 yards. She¡¯s beyond good.¡±

    ¡°Yea, with those weird eyes of hers. What do you think, magnifying contact lenses, some spy shit that makes your vision sharper?¡± Gabe asked. "Or just actual evil?"

    ¡°I dont know. Half the time she doesn¡¯t even look at you, it¡¯s like her hands have eyes, or she mentally becomes the bullet or some shit. Her eyes are closed in this frame, and she¡¯s taking a shot almost behind her back with a 5 or 6 inch barrel 22 pistol. Fuck, she may literally be a demon. Even Mike has to look where he¡¯s shooting. Is she just gonna rush the stage and stab him? Just eat 50 9mm rounds to the everything and not die, yank the president¡¯s head off with her hands?¡± Tanner pondered.

    ¡°They raised security through the roof. Indoor venue, no windows, metal detectors, no re-entry, VIP tickets only, Secret Service for both candidates, there¡¯s no way they can get a damn throwing star in there, let alone a gun, and the place is security swept before the debate, probably during it, facial recognition on all the staff, probably scan cards you can¡¯t fake. She has to be planning to go point-blank and maybe stab him with a poison pen or a damn piece of wood?¡±

    Nadja strolled into the workshop, looking bored, watching Mike finish his last delicate pass with the sandpaper on the deep brown wood.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been playing on the lathe for hours.¡± She said

    ¡°Unfortunately, I get one chance to do this. The idea is that it needs to look like one solid piece of wood, so I¡¯m making it from one solid piece of wood, and if I break this part, I start over and have to order another piece of very expensive wood.¡±

    ¡°You have been wrapping and gluing layers of silk around a metal rod for days, and then you spend all day drilling a hole in this long, expensive piece of wood. Now you have glued this into the wood, and you have shaved down nearly all of it.¡± she studied closely.

    ¡°Hours of removal to end up with a paper thin layer of wood over a plastic barrel. Like Veneer.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°And why not just use veneer?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Because there would be a visible seam. I can¡¯t claim this is one solid piece, if it has visible seams, so it has to be continuous. That¡¯s why I picked a dark figured Pao Ferro. By the time I slather it in stained lacquer, the difference between this and a 15,000 dollar piece of solid endangered rosewood, is indistinguishable to anyone who isn¡¯t a wood expert, and bothers to inspect it closely. The flamed maple inlay pieces hide the cocking lever and trigger, end cap. No reloads, no taking it apart. Once the pieces are glued and pinned, it¡¯s loaded and can¡¯t be unloaded or reloaded.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re confident enough to think one shot is enough?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Who said this was a single shot? I gutted and modified a Ruger Buck mark pistol, did a casting of the pieces, in carbon-fiber spider silk, not a metal part in this gun except the titanium rifling in the chamber. Just enough to get it spinning. This normal pair of binoculars you can get at any store, modified and re-glued, breaks in the middle, clips onto the little dovetails in the grip. Now you have a scoped semi-automatic rifle, 15 rounds of polymer 22 Igrushka short. Adequate for 200 yard headshots.¡± He grinned.

    ¡°Where do the rounds eject?¡± she said looking at the blueprint.

    ¡°They don¡¯t. Combustible cases don¡¯t need to eject, once the round fire¡¯s there¡¯s nothing to expel. No suppressor this time. No reloading, no second chances.¡± Mike exhaled.

    ¡°What if it jams?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Then I¡¯m fucked. Once it¡¯s glued into the wood, there¡¯s no disassembly and if cocking it again or violently shaking it doesn¡¯t work, it¡¯s just over. It¡¯s an open-bolt, slam-fire repeater with a fixed pin and direct blowback. It¡¯s as simple as it can get. Why the look, you doubt my skills, or you suddenly don¡¯t like to take dangerous risks anymore? I only need the first one to fire to kill a president, after that it¡¯s just getting out alive, so I¡¯m the one risking my ass.¡±

    ¡°How accurate will this be?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Enough. I can¡¯t exactly test it since it can¡¯t reload now that it''s assembled.. This isn¡¯t a very powerful caliber, it¡¯s just as powerful as the gun can handle. Any body armor at a hundred yards might stop it, he might survive one to the chest even if he¡¯s not wearing a vest, which he will be. This is a headshot by faith gun, and I¡¯d have you do it, but you know I need this to truly be complete. There¡¯s no higher kill, no bigger risk and no tier up except killing god himself. Holding my hand on my plan proves nothing, and you need me to become like you. This is everything we both want. I need you to trust me for once when I say I WILL hit my mark on the first shot, and the rest is just escape rounds. I¡¯ve trusted a lot of your ideas, don¡¯t doubt me on mine.¡± He said, almost informing rather than asking.

    ¡°Keep acting like that Michael, and you¡¯ll be doing more real magic than seeing in the dark. The Judas Cane is perfect. Betraying God and country with a walking stick. How does it feel?¡±

    ¡°Like I can taste the blood already, and I can¡¯t wait to pull the trigger.¡± He growled.

 Chapter 18: Angels Wings

    Gabe sat up, Beretta 9mm drawn and cocked, momentarily confused where he was, and then remembering the old church and why he wasn¡¯t in his apartment. His heart raced, and the couch felt damp with sweat, as the light of the TV further down, moved his attention.

    ¡°Again?¡± asked Dyson¡¯s voice in the dark, headphones on and playing a video game to get out his frustrations.

    ¡°Same damn dream. Alone in a graveyard, I can see in the dark for some reason, There¡¯s this voice in my head telling me to kill, and I follow this voice somehow to a heat signature, a man glowing in the dark. Old abandoned building, top floor near the window. I stand near the edge of this lake and I see the glow of this figure with angel wings. I can see a rifle, so I draw mine to line up, and it¡¯s different. It¡¯s not my gun. It¡¯s some modern variant of an MP5 with a weird green dot scope, and I get ready to take the shot and realize the figure in the window is me, standing with angel wings spread out holding my rifle. We fire at the same time, barrel to barrel. Every time. Shots fire like one sound, flash and wake up just burning up and shaking. I think it¡¯s Mike. I¡¯m Mike in the dream. I¡¯m him shooting at me.¡±

    ¡°Pretty obvious symbolism, my man. You¡¯re fighting the one terrorist you can¡¯t kill, you feel like you¡¯re just always in his sights, and he¡¯s in yours, but nobody wins. You¡¯re the angel, the Archangel, I mean you came up with that symbolism yourself. You¡¯re scared. For the first time you¡¯re actually scared of your target., and it¡¯s fuckin with you bro.¡± Dyson sighed.

    ¡°It¡¯s more than that. He¡¯s taunting me¡­but it¡¯s not¡­him. Something is getting in my dreams.¡±

    ¡°Yea, it¡¯s called frustration, being pissed off.¡± Dyson huffed.

    ¡°No, something literal, is getting inside my dreams. I think it¡¯s her. Nadja. She¡¯s calling me in. Luring me into a face-off.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t, man. Don¡¯t let their mine games and brainwashing get to you. You¡¯re fighting flesh and blood here.¡± Dyson sighed. ¡°But someone was calling you. Tanner sent like 3 texts while you were asleep.¡±

    ¡°Shit, why didn¡¯t you wake me?¡± Gabe asked.

    ¡°You need sleep, it¡¯s fucking 2AM.¡±

    ¡°I have to go. This could be important. Look, she just texted me an address 3 times. Maybe she¡¯s hurt or needs backup.¡±

    ¡°Dude, I would have seen her head out if she was kitted up for war, She has my number too, never called me once. It¡¯s a booty call, not a Duty call. How long has it been since Shannon left you? Sorry, cheated on you while you were defending the homeland and then when you found out from her friend, she left you. It¡¯s been a year, Gabe. Go get some.¡±

    ¡°Tanner has that, Alex guy. She¡¯s not hooking up.¡±

    ¡°Right¡­women never cheat, obviously, you would know. Man, we could be dead in a few days, don¡¯t die after a year long dry spell. Die freshly laid. Who gives a shit if she has someone?¡± he shrugged.

    ¡°I do. But it could be something else important. It¡¯s not like I can go back to sleep anyway.¡± Gabe said, grabbing his jacket and heading to the truck.

    Gabe checked the phone again, playing his voicemail and feeling something was wrong. He grabbed his M4 rifle, cocking and locking it as he went for a walk down the muddy road where a truck might get stuck. His heart sank in his chest as he stared at the abandoned building, peering out now from behind tree cover and in full view of a lake. The obvious trap, sent him into tactical mode, debating whether tanner was even alive after making the voicemail recording or dead and in no need of rescue. The thought of even a slight chance they kept her alive in there to lure him in was enough to do the trick, but he was not about to go down without a fight. He grabbed his gear and left the truck behind, hugging the tree line to stay hidden.

    Dyson jerked from his chair, looking up at a female figure and almost drawing a gun, as the dreamlike orange eyes and fangs faded to just a human form, a very startled Tanner just trying to wake him.

    ¡°Fuck me, I thought you were that demon bitch. I¡¯m still having nightmares about that.¡± He sighed, relieved. "She really does get in your head."

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep. I heard movement down here and thought I¡¯d just¡­talk to Gabe.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°Seemed important. What did you two talk about?¡± he smirked.

    ¡°N-nothing yet. I just came down here. He¡¯s not even on the couch.¡± She puzzled.

    ¡°Well yea he went to find you, you sent him some address and a voicemail, he responded right away.¡± Dyson said, looking as perplexed as Tanner did.

    ¡°I never texted him, or sent a voicemail.¡± She said, looking worried.

    ¡°Bullshit. I got Gabe¡¯s voicemail access on my phone. You told him to meet you.¡± He said, playing the message.

    ¡°Hi, this is Tanner. I really need someone to talk to right now, but not here. I¡¯m sending you the address. I don¡¯t wanna be alone right now.¡± The voice said, as Tanner¡¯s blood ran cold.

    ¡°Dyson, that¡¯s not my voice.¡± she exhaled.

    ¡°Sounded like your voice to me.¡± he said, looking worried.

    ¡°I know, that¡¯s why I¡¯m kinda freaked out, because that¡¯s not me, I would probably know, but it sounds a lot like me¡­and that¡¯s not my phone number. Oh my fuck, get guns, get that address into a GPS, he¡¯s walking into a trap.¡± She said, darting to the stairs.

    ¡°Wait¡­WHAT!? What are you talking about? That¡¯s seriously not you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s Nadja. I¡¯m certain because that sounds a LOT like my voice, and I know damn sure I didn¡¯t send that message, and the only thing on there that doesn¡¯t sound exactly like me is the slight lisp when she says sending. Play it back and listen. And that¡¯s Mike¡¯s phone number. Gabe is about to die.¡± She said as he jumped to his feet and grabbed some gear.

    Gabe checked the perimeter, not a sound in any direction or movement. He flipped on the thermal binoculars and pistol gripped the rifle as he scanned the area, the gutted-out building totally empty, and only some rickety stairs leading up to the second floor. He shut the door behind him, bracing it closed with an old wooden chair, so nothing could enter without making a lot of noise and going in through a window. He latched the one window shut that wasn¡¯t already frozen shut with rust, and latched long ago. Securing the area and heading to the stairs, he took very slow steps near the inside wall. The creaking of the old timber unnerved him, making more noise than he would have liked, reaching the top with a rapid arc to look for warm bodies before heading up the rest of the way.

    He did a quick sweep of the floor, one big open area with some old tables and debris, the roof caved in slightly in one corner, No doors or other rooms in the old shelter house, nothing glowing in sight except a small mouse-sized creature scurrying for the one open window, glass long broken and a soft breeze rolling in with a whistle. He softened his steps to listen for the creak of the stairs if anyone approached from behind, as he peered from the window and spotted something by the water¡¯s edge, human shaped and lit up clearly by the full moon.

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°Got you motherfucker.¡± He said, leaning back and assessing the target, zooming in and switching to night vision to confirm, it was Mike. Sig MPX pointed upward, resting on his shoulder, as Mike strolled aimlessly and looked around as if searching for him. He turned away, staring at the treeline.

    Gabe shouldered his M4, taking aim and focused on his mark, locked in and tuning out everything else. A pair of eyes in the dark behind him locked onto it¡¯s target as well, the subtle gleam of steel moving slightly, silently moving closer. Gabe placed his finger on the trigger and felt the cold steel texture ridges on it, and then the cold steel point of a knife pressing gently into his spine, lower back, right between the vertebrae.

    ¡°You take that shot, and I¡¯ll kill you.¡± Nadja whispered, firmly gripping his shirt collar and pulling him back just to the tipping point of balance, the knife barely in his skin.

    ¡°You¡¯ll kill me anyway if I don¡¯t.¡± he said.

    ¡°Da. I will anyway. This is true. But I won¡¯t kill your parents and make them watch the video of their other son dying to the same terrorist threat. They will be begging me to kill them once they see what their boys have become. At least Caleb died instantly. Mike shoots to kill, painless, and his victims often never hear the shot. You could die just as quick and painless, a hero¡¯s death. Or I could take my time killing you. Do nothing, put the gun on safety, and let Michael put a bullet in your head. Die standing up and armed like a soldier who knows when he has no choice.¡± She growled. He clicked the gun to safety, keeping his finger on the selector, pressing back just enough to almost move it into firing position, squeezing the trigger against the safety block hard, so the slightest movement of the safety would fire. Mike felt the crosshairs on his back, taking a second to remember in the dream where his target was standing before making his move. He exhaled, swinging around in one motion and lining up the window, the glowing head sliding behind the reticle and pulling the trigger.

    Gabriel waited till the scoped almost aligned and clicked off the safety, before his trigger finger could pull back, the blade sunk in, pulling his shot off target, and the sharp tug yanked him to the floor. Mike stood holding the MPX, smoke rolling from the suppressor as he sighed and made his casual walk home.

    Gabe gasped, waking up to the sudden jerk of his wrists pulled tightly upward, sending a jolt of pain through the knife wound in his back. His legs paralyzed, hanging below him. Footsteps stomping up on top of a wooden box for height, letting the reality sink in, as the small light on the camera propped up in front of him on a table, blinked slowly.

    ¡°Smile for the camera, Gabriel. You¡¯re not the first angel I¡¯ve killed, but you are the first I¡¯ve been able to play.¡± she hissed in his ear.

    ¡°You really are the devil, aren¡¯t you?¡± he sighed, nervously, trying to remain calm.

    ¡°Tonight, for you... I am.¡± She whispered, plunging the knife into his back at the base of the neck and making a long incision downward. He gnashed his teeth and tried to remain strong and silent as she made several more deep cuts, peeling the skin off his back and folding it to either side.

    ¡°This is what you wanted, Gabriel. So many tours in Iraq, so many voluntary missions, You wanted fame, and to die a hero. You call yourself an Archangel yet you cannot fly. I¡¯m giving you your wings.¡± She whispered, running a needle through his elbow skin, and stitching it tightly with sinew to the skin from his back, repeating it on the other side.

    ¡°What do you want to know!?¡± he cried out.

    ¡°Nothing.¡± She smirked. ¡°I¡¯m not tormenting you for information, or to make you surrender. You¡¯ve already surrendered, I know everything I need to know. All I need is to kill you and leave.¡± She mumbled. ¡°This is for disobedience, and for fun.¡± She giggled darkly.

    Nadja made a deep gash through the back muscles from the base of the neck to the small of the back, adding muscle to the wings with a few stitches. She made no hint of reaction to his groans and gnashed cries of pain as she displaced each shoulder blade with the snip of a pair of tree limb trimmers, the crunch of bone sending Gabe into a nauseous delirium. ¡°Stay awake, Gabriel¡­you¡¯re stronger than that.¡± She said, waving something in front of his face and then proceeding to make countless calculated cuts with the sheers, down the ribs near the spine, clipping each rib mechanically efficient and fast. She followed a second series down the other side of his ribcage, applying something sticky as she went that sent him reeling with every application, searing hot. With a firm crack, she opened the back of the ribcage, folding it out and quickly securing it with a stitch as he began to wheeze and struggle to breathe.

    ¡°The problem with flying too high, even if you don¡¯t burn up in the sun, Gabriel, you eventually run out of air.¡± She whispered, quickly reaching into his ribcage and making a series of rapid slashes, spraying blood across her face and sending him into convulsions. The movement stopped and Gabe went limp as she made the final cuts to butterfly each lung like a chicken breast, stitching it to the ribs even after he went silent, just to finish the ritual. She stood back, admiring her work and stopping the recording, stepping into the darkness behind him and getting the second phone, Gabe¡¯s own phone, holding it up like a selfie.

    ¡°Hello parents. Your sons are both with God now, But sadly, only one of them was brave enough to have earned his wings. If Caleb ended up in hell instead, I¡¯ll be sure to give him his own set as well.¡± She grinned, stopping the recording and plugging it into the laptop on the table to start editing, the sound of a mouse click and Russian opera softly playing as she got comfortable, the pop of a bag of chips opening as the files loaded, and with her still bloody hands she placed a slightly tinted chip in her mouth, crunching slowly and taking her time. The wall of flesh behind her, tapping rhythmically with the drip of blood.

    Dyson dialed again as tanner drove down the old road quickly.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t he pick up? Gabe always picks up after the first or second call. I¡¯ve called 5 times in 5 minutes, where would you have taken him?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d- WHu¡­I don¡¯t know, she sent the address in the text, not in the voicemail. All I got is Hartwood street because you glanced at it and told me. I didn¡¯t call him, why would I know where I would send him? I don¡¯t lure in people like that, and if I did, I¡¯d have a kill-room, and I wouldn¡¯t be luring in a War veteran on my own team, so I don¡¯t know where on this fucking 12-mile stretch of road, there would be a conveniently abandoned home or business that would be good for luring someone to. The phone rang about half a ring and Dyson picked up.

    ¡°Gabe, what the fuck?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Gabe is not here right now,¡± Nadja said playfully. ¡°You just missed him, and so did Michael. We were having a little conversation, if you like to leave a message for him, I suggest you say a brief prayer at the funeral service.¡±

    ¡°Listen here, you crack-whore from hell. If you have him hostage¡­¡± Dyson yelled.

    ¡°Oh, no, he is free to go when you feel like picking him up. I suggest bringing two people to this address. You will not need guns, but you will need gloves and a stretcher.¡± She said hanging up and sending a message containing a video. Dyson breathed heavily, hovering over the play button and almost afraid to touch it.

    ¡°I need an address here!¡± Tanner insisted. He punched it into the GPS and sat back, raking his hair back through his fingers and nervously staring at the black screen with the play button and a time reading 5 and half minutes.

    ¡°I can¡¯t click it. Just drive."

    ¡°Play the video, it could be important!¡± Tanner insisted.

    ¡°I can¡¯t. It¡¯s too dark to see much, but that¡¯s his gun on the ground and his Archangels shirt next to it. He¡¯s already dead. I know it. I can feel it. We¡¯re just heading into a killbox, pull over.¡± He said, looking lost and dazed. She pulled to the side of the road and waited, Dyson handing her the phone, implying she should watch it. She pressed play and the camera moved to Nadja¡¯s face with an evil smile, a shirtless Gabe suspended by the wrists and struggling, as she paused it. A hint of orange gleaming over the one eye in the moonlight beam.

    ¡°Fuck¡­he¡¯s already dead. The time stamp says 20 minutes ago. It¡¯s not even a 6-minute video. She¡¯s either gone by now or the place is trapped.¡±

    ¡°Can we take her down with everyone else loaded up?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No¡­not a damn chance. We¡¯re not even military trained except Yuri, we have store-bought body armor, no fancy soldier shit, some questionable rifles and pistols, no grenades or rocket launchers. You guys are way better than us, and she killed your whole team with zero prep work. Gabe is already dead, you think just you and 3 amateur assholes just waking up, with some black market and online ordered gear, can even touch her, especially if she¡¯s trapped the place and knows we¡¯re coming? We go down that road, we die there. If Mike¡¯s there she¡¯ll spare me, and kill everyone else, if she¡¯s alone I¡¯m dead too. That is a trap and we both know it, and you could call up 8 more guys, bunch a fucking green berets, and get them down here at light speed and geared up and still not save him. You¡¯ll just get them killed too. We¡¯ve never encountered her on her own turf and with planning. I¡¯m not going to try that shit tonight. Just say a prayer and don¡¯t watch the video. Hopefully it was quick. I¡¯ll tell you if there¡¯s anything you need to know, or any final words. Let¡¯s just go back.¡±

    ¡°Mute the video, skip to the end. Just tell me if he¡¯s alive when it stops recording.¡± He said, trying to keep together. She scrolled and looked away, wincing and scrolling some more.

    ¡°No¡­ We¡¯re just risking our lives for a body. And you don¡¯t wanna see what it looks like at the end.¡±

    ¡°FUCK!¡± he yelled, punching the dashboard.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure she killed him before even pressing record.¡± Tanner lied, holding back a tear. ¡°Shot to the head I think. Kind of her thing. Double tap headshot. gory but painless. The rest is just Nadja taunting and¡­mutilating the body. There¡¯s nothing for you to see.¡± She said, closing out and turning around to head back.

 Chapter 19: All the Presidents Men

    The Large Presidential debate banner stood proudly on the front of the building, a crowd gathering and forming a line near the front. Dyson strutted up to the entrance, feeling naked without a weapon, rage in his veins, emptying his pockets into the plastic tray and moving along as they handed his wallet and keys back, belt and glasses. They removed his phone case and handed it back. He walked down the hall, Passing Alexander and giving him a nod.

    Tanner sat in the car, guns locked and loaded in the passenger seat upholstery, picking up her phone and looking angrily.

    ¡°Yuri¡­why the hell are we waiting out here like assholes while they go in?¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Because you are on security watch list from mayor massacre camera, and we do not have time for fake ID. And I look suspicious and have Russian accent. I would get too much attention, so I am like you¡­outside position."

    ¡°So if they get killed and Bloomberg gets assassinated, and everything is fucked, we can at least take shots as they escape, probably with shooting back folding plastic auto shotguns and shit?¡± she huffed angrily.

    ¡°You have Archangel and boyfriend inside, this is the best we can do. You want to go get arrested and leave Alexander alone if he lives, go ahead. I¡¯ll wait here and not.¡± He sighed.

    Dyson took one of the keys off his keyring, a brass blank with notches on the back side, as he locked the bathroom door behind Alexander. He removed his shoe, placing a piece of sandpaper on the sink, and the two of them began quickly rubbing the key blanks across the paper, sharpening them into a makeshift blade.

    ¡°You¡¯ve done this before?¡± Dyson asked.

    ¡°Yes, in prison.¡± Alexander grinned.

    ¡°Is it pretty lethal?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Compared to a toothbrush, yes, compared to a real knife, well, be thankful we¡¯re not sharpening a toothbrush.¡± Alexander said, switching grit and sides. ¡°Just be careful returning it to your pocket, lest you receive an impromptu vasectomy via negligence.¡± He said handing it back and beveling the point in a rush.

    ¡°What were you in prison for?¡± Dyson asked.

    ¡°Stabbing someone.¡± Alexander chuckled.

    Mike stood, looking in the hotel bathroom mirror, holding a wax dipped bundle of 2 holy bullets. He took a deep breath and swallowed them, washing them down with a glass of water and beating his chest to hold it down. He stepped outside and grabbed his cane and his hat.

    The line was long and unnerving, making him glad he went early. He limped heavily, nodding to the security and removing his top hat as he smiled through his fancy waxed mustache and gold rimmed glasses, placing them in the plastic tray.

    ¡°Waltman Brimline¡­¡± said the security guard.

    ¡°Yes sir, that¡¯s my I.d. there." he said in a small, decrepit voice.

    ¡°Multimillionaire and business owner Brimline that owns Brimline railroads?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Nope. I¡¯m his twin brother with the same name.¡± he joked, jabbing playfully with the cane.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned.¡± the guard smiled.

    ¡°Won¡¯t we all be some day? Now, I don¡¯t mean to alarm you, but that metal detector¡¯s probably gonna go off. I got 2 screws from heart surgery years ago.¡± He said, unbuttoning his shirt as he motioned him to a private area, taking the cane and glasses. They stepped into a side booth as he undid his shirt, a fake scar over his ribs and the wand beeping over it. "Everything else looks clear. Sorry about the inconvenience, sir.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s no problem. Check everyone with these crazies nowadays. Hell, if someone did something crazy, I might end up getting shot. I was already in Nam, you ever had 2 bullets floating around in your belly?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I imagine it¡¯s not fun, sir.¡±

    ¡°No, but getting them out is worse than when they went in. Be careful with that cane. That¡¯s a solid piece of endangered African rosewood. Illegal to even cut down now, very rare. Please be gentle with my 20,000 dollar cane, mister¡­what is your name?¡± he asked harmlessly. He gave the cane a wand over and handed it back.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, here is your cane, sir.¡± These binoculars need checked. He said as Mike nodded with a smile. ¡°Just don¡¯t break em, I wanna get a good close look at the debate. My eyes aren¡¯t what they once were.¡± He said as a second guard moved them, unscrewed the lenses and checked them for anything and everything, re-assembling them since it was quite literally, just an optic.

    ¡°The lens was scratched when I got it.¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Oh I know. Those are just cheap replaceable binoculars. Worth about 30 bucks. Unlike the suit and the shoes. You know, quality footwear at my age comes at a price, but you can¡¯t put a price on good posture.¡± Mike said, as they gave him back his things and moved him alone. He left the line and joined arms with a very attractive brunette waiting for him.

    ¡°Damn¡­money really does get you everything.¡± The guard sighed to his friend, staring at Nadja''s ass.

    ¡°What was delay?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°I was so busy thinking about the things I was smuggling in, I forgot these pants had a metal button, so I had to get checked.¡± He lied. ¡°Bathrooms.¡± He nodded, she nodded back.

    Mike heaved over the bathroom sink, his eyes watering and cleaning up his hands as he dried off the wax pill and carefully broke the middle, unwrapping the bullets and placing them on the mirror ledge, he coughed loudly, yanking the lining out of his shoes and removing the pieces of the plastic pistols, assembling them and tucking one away. The one with yellow tape on the barrel stayed out, as he opened the cylinder and dumped 6 plastic rounds from it, He quietly drew the hammer a few times to double-check the direction of rotation, and he reloaded it placing the gold and silver "unholy rounds" in the chambers marked in yellow paint marker, and lining it up very slowly to visually confirm they would be the last two of 8 rounds. He tucked away the other pistol and left the bathroom.

    Mike made his way to the balcony VIP area D, the right side of the two center lined balcony rows, 2 others to the sides of the main public area below, a horseshoe shape of 6 elevated sections, surrounding the perimeter of the debate center. He moved his eyes discreetly, counting the 5 other guests in the little nook taking their seats. A young man in a suit entered the area with a silver tray and bumped into Mike, who was stepping conveniently in the way.

    ¡°Sorry sir, that was my fault.¡± He apologized as Mike scoffed and helped him steady the tray.

    ¡°Oh no, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll take that, You¡¯re as wobbly as a baby giraffe, kiddo.¡± He laughed, patting him on the back and taking the tray of glasses and Champagne. Taking a bottle of eye drops from his shirt pocket, he smiled and wandered slowly, placing 3 drops in each glass except the far left one, and heading to the guests.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Gentlemen, ladies, My treat. A fine bottle of bubbly to relax the tension.¡± He said shakily, pouring the glasses and letting people take one each. One of the other ¡°older¡± men politely declined.

    ¡°No, thank you. I don¡¯t drink.¡± he waved.

    ¡°Well, you better start. At our age, any day could be your last one. You might regret missing something good in life. One glass never killed anyone.¡± He smiled.

    ¡°Ah, but I must resist.¡± He smiled.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a damn shame. I¡¯ll pour you one in case you change your mind, and if the time has come to part, and you haven¡¯t touched it, I¡¯ll just finish it off myself.¡± Mike smiled, still hunched and looking slightly sinister with that statement.

    They took their seats, everyone enjoying a drink except the tall man in the middle. Mike leaned over to get a look at the surroundings as Nadja in the next VIP nook gave him a subtle nod. Raising her glass and taking a sip. Her vivid blue eyes piercing the distance. She sat down, clutching a small plastic contact case and her own eye drops.

    Dyson made his way towards the kitchen area, following the catering staff and grabbing a small glass of red wine, dumping it on his white shirt and pretending to be upset. He reached out and tapped one of the kitchen staff as he walked by.

    ¡°Excuse me¡­this is embarrassing. I have a date waiting for me and I just ruined my shirt, can I buy your jacket?¡± he asked discreetly.

    ¡°It¡¯s for catering staff only.¡±

    ¡°Look, kid. I don¡¯t think you understand how fine this chick is, if she sees me like this, I¡¯ll lose my shot. 500 bucks cash.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get another one, you can use this.¡± He said, removing the white jacket and letting him cover up. He walked briskly through the kitchen and grabbed one of the empty trays and some bottles of wine, pretending to be kitchen staff, as a woman in a similar outfit followed him.

    ¡°Hey, those are for Carlos, do I know you?¡± she asked, following him down the hall.

    ¡°Carlos is sick, I¡¯m a friend of his covering for a bit.¡±

    ¡°Those aren¡¯t even the right bottles, you have Merlot and Champagne in the same ice tray, the Merlot isn¡¯t chilled.¡± She said, chasing after him as he moved away. She grabbed his arm and he stuck the key knife up towards her eye, covering her mouth.

    ¡°You scream, you die, understand?¡± he said, letting her mouth go. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry I had to do that, follow me.¡± He said, shoving her in front. And pushing one of the blunt keys into her back for intimidation. ¡°My name is Dyson, I¡¯m one of¡­ I¡¯m the last of the Archangel Vigilante group. There are two Russian spies here to kill President Bloomberg, or possibly President DuPont. I can¡¯t let that happen. You have to help me."

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just tell security?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯d be taken in for questions, they wouldn¡¯t believe me, and then some of the necessary security would be guarding me instead of hunting them down. They don''t know what they''re up against, I do. They killed my friends. Lives depend on this, and I¡¯m sorry, but I WILL kill you to stop an assassination, please don¡¯t let people die, I just need your cooperation. I need you to take these bottles into every VIP section and tell them it''s free complimentary refreshments, and tell me if you see any men fitting this height and build, and any woman of this height and build, anything suspicious or¡­and this may sound crazy but, see if any of them have a Russian accent or orange colored eyes.¡± he said giving her a paper description.

    ¡°You¡¯re serious. That does sound crazy.¡±

    ¡°And security would just be occupied with me. I¡¯m technically wanted for vigilante crimes myself, we tried taking them out already. America needs your help. Just please do this.¡± He said, removing the key from her back and holding up the blunt one. Switching to the sharp one.

    ¡°Okay. But if anything happens, I¡¯ll tell the police your description.¡±

    ¡°Honey, if anything happens, I¡¯m probably not gonna be alive to arrest. If they¡¯re both in that VIP room when I go in, I¡¯m a dead man. I just want Mister Black dead and two living presidents walking out of here tonight.¡±

    The ¡°waitress¡± entered Mike¡¯s section, offering free drinks as they all declined, holding their own already. Mike got up and accepted the bottle anyway, leaning in close to the woman to mutter something quietly.

    ¡°Is this from the woman in the next section down?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Uh, no sir, it¡¯s complimentary of the venue.¡±

    ¡°I really do hate to cause any trouble but, I think I saw her place something in someone¡¯s drink. I recognize her from earlier, she¡¯s quite attractive, I was going to introduce myself, but she was with a very intimidating looking man who slipped her a small bag of pills. It¡¯s probably nothing, medication, I just want to make sure. She has a very¡­odd accent? More of as lisp really.¡± Mike whispered.

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± She nodded.

    She came out looking pale and alarmed as Dyson approached her.

    ¡°Oh my god, someone spotted the girl in the next section. Weird accent, good-looking, slipping people pills in their drinks. Shit, this is really happening, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Go, tell security a man fitting any description but mine, was threatening to kill the president, I¡¯ll take care of her.¡± He nodded. She walked briskly down the hall as he readied his key. He opened the door, head down and a bottle up to obscure his face.

    ¡°Complimentary wine for the lovely lady, from the man in the next section.¡± He said in a gruff tone. Nadja looked his direction and they locked eyes. There was an awkward silence as she recognized the fake voice and smiled back.

    Mike stood silently as the tall sober man noticed a woman slumping in her seat, the other VIP guests nodding off slowly as Mike locked the door.

    The tall man felt a hand around his mouth and a pen lodge in his neck, stabbing him 4 times rapidly, as Mike hid behind the man.

    ¡°See? One drink never killed anyone, just put them to sleep, but the lack of one cost you your life.¡± Mike sighed. Letting him go slowly. He checked his jacket and found the security card, assuming there would be one in all the 6 VIP sections. The debate echoed as the candidates argued, and Mike hunkered down with the dead man. Grabbing his cane and prepping the kill. He pulled the carbon fiber lock pin, sliding the grip forward and engaging the barrel with the magazine, as it locked permanently forward. He took the right half of the binoculars and detached them with a snap of a pin, sliding the locking pin into the hole, and attaching the scope to the protruding receiver, he cocked the receiver firmly, loading the first round and unscrewing the base of the cane, now holding a 2-foot-long pistol with an optic and 15 rounds of polymer death. He peered down the scope, checking the scratch in the lens was facing upwards, marking the point where the round would hit at the distance to the stage. He knew he had one shot guaranteed, and after that everything would be questionable. He cleared his head and slowed his breathing, popping up and lining up the sights with President DuPont, pulling the trigger and seeing a splatter of red from his face, He moved his sights swiftly to the VIP sections to the right and left. Shooting whoever was standing up and not ducking down, neutralizing security in the upper floor with all vantage views. He ducked down, hearing shots fired back and popping up to take out the sniper in the roof area across the stage. He leaned over the balcony and watched the crowd scatter, looking for whoever glowed warmer, firing the last of the rounds as he moved back and forth to avoid pistol fire moving his way. He fired the last round up into the light and dove behind the unconscious bodies for cover. He drew his revolvers, left hand with the one sporting the yellow tape in the dark section, eyeing the door.

    ¡°Six¡­ SIX.¡± He said aloud. The door busted open and Mike took 6 shots, aiming for the gaps in the body armor between the face and neck, counting them aloud and dropping the pistol to his belt with the two rounds remaining, switching to the unmarked revolver for the last 2 shots. He tucked the taped gun with the blessed ammunition left, in his pocket holster, and favored the other gun, rushing out and down the hall. He grabbed one of the security guard¡¯s 9mm Berettas, using the revolver as a brace and shield and dropping anything in his way resembling security or armed.

    As the guns began firing, Nadja drew her pair of revolvers and Dyson flipped the cart, dodging the 4 bullets and hunkering behind the metal cart as people scattered and hit the exit. She fired the remaining 4 at the cart and noticed the dents in it.

    ¡°Fucking plastic bullets.¡± She said, corset-holstering the other gun and tossing the empty aside as Dyson hopped up, key out and fists up like a boxer.

    ¡°You killed my friend.¡± He said, kicking the door shut behind him and locking it.

    ¡°No, I butchered your friend alive.¡± She chuckled. ¡°Killing is what I¡¯ll do to you without proper time to make it last like your friend. You¡¯ll die quick, he did not. Did you hear that first shot?Bloomberg is dead, you have failed." She said, pulling an ink pen from the seat and stepping closer. He swung and missed as she ducked under, slicing wig and taking a stab to the hip. Kneeing at her face. She blocked with her arm and struck his knee and groin, trying to drop him, but only lowering him to her level, taking a manly headbutt to her face and staggering back.

    ¡°Two can play the cokehead game, bitch. This time I¡¯m the monster on enough blow to feel absolutely nothing.¡±

    ¡°Blow yourself.¡± She scoffed, stepping in and breaking his nose, deflecting another punch with the key blade and kneeing his ribs, double handing his bladed arm and doing a front flip around it. She pulled, twisting his arm and nearly breaking it, as she disarmed the blade and rolled back up, holding it. She slashed his throat and flicked if off the balcony with a smile, arms playfully behind her back. Then she drew the pistol as he struggled to stop the bleeding, and put two rapid rounds in his face, missing one and hitting with the other, killing him anyway. She took out her eye drops case and unscrewed the top, carefully removing the blue contacts and letting them fall to the floor. As chaos ensued around her. She stepped out and began firing. She took 2 rapid killshots, perfectly to the forehead of her targets, her orange eyes reflecting in the flashing light.

    "Much better." she smiled, stepping on the blue contacts as she moved onward.

 Chapter 20: Adapt.

    Nadja rushed for the emergency exit, emptying the gun into the two guards as she charged through, kicking it shut and jamming one of the empty guns in the lock from the outside, her eye catching a strange sense of panic in the women walking by, in a daze.

    ¡°Someone killed president DuPont!¡± yelled a woman from the crowd, Nadja¡¯s expression changing to rage as she grabbed the woman and stopped her.

    ¡°What did you say?¡± she asked.

    ¡°President DuPont is dead.¡± She hollered, crying, wiping her nose on the black and green DuPont logo on her shirt.

    ¡°You mean Former President Bloomberg is dead, Da?¡± Nadja asked.

    ¡°Lady, I think I fucking know who got shot, I was in there!¡± she cried, as Nadja¡¯s expression went cold, and she felt the betrayal of Judas strike her like a bullet to the soul. She bared her teeth and stomped forward into the crowd, aiming for the front of the building. She could smell the stench of betrayal and magnesium gunpowder, calling her.

    Mike reached the parking lot, stopping as the familiar click of his own revolver cocking stopped him.

    ¡°You¡¯re out of ammo.¡± He sighed. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± he chuckled.

    ¡°Michael, what have you done?!¡± Nadja roared.

    ¡°I did exactly what you told me to¡­ I did whatever I wanted, and what I wanted was to kill a president. So I did. I¡¯m sorry that it wasn¡¯t the one you wanted me to, but you said yourself to become what I am supposed to be I just have to do what I desire most, and am too afraid to admit that I wanted. My darkest desire. I did wanna kill a president, yours. I wanted to break your heart and kill your dreams. DuPont was a cancer on this country, and his rigged elections and Russian ties would start a war.¡±

    ¡°A FAKE WAR!¡± she screamed.

    ¡°Not fake to the soldiers who¡¯d die, and the families that would mourn. Bloomberg is a piece of shit too, but he¡¯s nothing compared to the grand plan Ivanova had in mind, and the price of that sacrifice to this country. You¡¯re right, our country is going to hell, but it¡¯s going there slower without him weighing us down. Maybe Bloomberg will see this as a sign to clean his act up, to fear the people who could rise up. I struck fear in him tonight and ended the war by killing your plan. Judas betrayed like it was built to do, it was just always designed to betray you¡­and you fucking paid me a fortune to build it.¡± he smiled, drawing the brown recluse revolver with the yellow tape on the barrel, pointing it at her, holy rounds next in line.

    ¡°Michael, how dare you. I made you what you are. I gave you power and freedom, and I gave you ME!! I saved Tanner from your evil by taking her from you, and gave you something more like yourself. We could have been gods!¡± She growled, her voice darkening in tone, inhumanly so, Her eyes glowing neon hot as she breathed heavily.

    ¡°We could have been devils. I¡¯m not either. I¡¯m just a fallen angel of vengeance.¡± He said cocking the hammer and aiming.

    ¡°With a gun that only returns sights to zero half the time. You¡¯re going to shoot me with a crooked plastic 22?¡± she chuckled.

    ¡°Maybe¡­aiming when you think you might miss is just part of faith. Goodbye, Nadja. If it¡¯s any consolation, Mister Black did love you, and he¡¯s going to miss you. He just knows, like I do, that there¡¯s no other choice.¡± He finished, putting a round in her forehead, reflexively firing the second round and landing it right in her heart. She dropped to her knees and folded backwards. Mike heard the click of a 9mm hammer behind his head.

    ¡°What have you done?¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°Hearing that question a lot lately. You¡¯re welcome, you¡¯re free.¡± Mike sighed.

    ¡°Free? I am not free! She was my only way of getting immunity and passport, money to disappear with Nicolai! They will kill him if they find out what we are, they will kill him just for knowing my failure tonight. I have nothing! You TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!¡± he yelled. ¡°And you just had to shoot one fucking president. Look me in the eyes, Holyman. I want to see them go dark.¡± Yuri said with tears running down his face, ¡°And you should prefer to die on your feet like a man, facing what you have done.¡±

    ¡°Six hundred more seconds, Yuri. Can you wait six hundred seconds to save everything you love?¡± Mike asked.

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve killed her a dozen times before, but never with bullets like these. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯ll stay dead this time. I believe, but I don¡¯t know for sure. If you kill me, and she comes back, you just robbed her of her vengeance or her prize to torture. If I¡¯m alive when she does, you captured me for her, and everything you wanted is still on the table. Just ask her for it.¡± Mike informed.

    ¡°And if she stays dead this time?¡± Yuri asked, fighting the pain in his heart.

    ¡°Then you have every right to kill me. I knew about Nicolai. I¡¯m sorry, but two dead Russians lovers are worth stopping a war where a thousand Russians will die, a thousand Americans will die, and this country will be in chaos and betrayal. You and him mean nothing to me compared to thousands of innocent lives and the future of this nation. No offense but fuck you both, and I would shoot me too in your shoes, but I sure as hell would not get my vengeance impatiently, when waiting another 9 or 10 minutes could save him, and everything you wanted. So grab Nadja¡¯s body before the police arrive, and drive, we have one last thing to kill together¡­

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°What is left to kill? You have killed everything.¡±

    ¡°Time.¡± Mike sighed. "9 very long minutes of time."

    Mike and Yuri sat near his favorite fishing spot, Nadja¡¯s corpse lying in the grass as they waited, Yuri still holding the gun down by his side as the phone displayed the countdown and both men looked lost in the void.

    ¡°How did we become enemies?¡± Yuri asked.

    ¡°That dead thing in the grass did that. I was just a retired plumber with a dream, and you were just looking for a life. And then she happened. She fucked us both over. Two men without souls hovering over the bitch that stole them. And if she gets back up, you won. And as sorry as I am that you have to lose everything you love, I deeply hope she doesn¡¯t get back up.¡±

    ¡°You want to die.¡± Yuri said. ¡°Because of what she made you do.¡± he sighed as if relating to the feeling.

    ¡°No, because it¡¯s my time. I¡¯m an old preacher that kills evil things, and I¡¯ve got no life left, no soul, no fight anymore. If she stays down, I just became something more than an idea, and I beat the devil. At 52 years old, that¡¯s as good as a Hitman and a Holyman can ask for. Someone was going to kill me eventually, Some target or some lucky asshole with a younger set of eyes, some cocky prick looking for a name for himself, or just¡­my own broken heart. And if she gets up¡­ I¡¯ll just be killed by the devil in a game we both lost. She''ll start her plan over. On the other hand, going out on a victory with nothing left to fight for, isn¡¯t so bad. Killed by a man I wronged, who damn well deserves something for his soul. I¡¯m honored, Yuri. I deserve it. You deserve it more than anyone. I hope you get to kill me instead of her.¡± Mike smiled.

    ¡°I hope I don¡¯t.¡± Yuri sighed, taking a swig from a flask and tossing it to Mike. ¡°One last drink either way.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°Russian vodka?¡± Mike scoffed.

    ¡°Da. The good stuff. Hundred proof.¡± He sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough Russian temptation, burning my insides on the way down. I¡¯ll die sober if you don¡¯t mind. Thanks for the offer.¡± He said, tossing it back. ¡°Just make me one promise. Tanner did nothing. She shouldn¡¯t suffer for this any more than she will already. Keeping me alive to hurt her and make me watch, just gives me lots of chances to get free and kill you. Just kill me. Make your way home to Russia.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m insulted. I would never hurt her, even to torture you. I would gladly torture you and never tell her, I might even lie and tell you I tortured her to fuck with you, but hurting her gives me nothing. We do what we MUST, not what we want, or what is most cutting to the enemy. Always what is necessary. You protect your country and I protect Nicolai. Sadly we cannot both have this, and that fate lies in the hands of the one who cursed us both, now lying in the grass. She will not get up. I will kill you quickly, and then I will find a way to go home. If it takes me years, if I do not arrive in time, I try. I have to. Secret goes to your grave and hopefully stays there.¡± Yuri said as the timer beeped, and he pointed the gun at Nadja, then back at Mike, unsure what side he was ever on. There was a moment of silence between them. Mike nodded.

    ¡°Thank God that¡¯s over. Sorry about your bad luck.¡± Mike said, slowly standing. ¡°Shot to the base of the spine at the shoulder blade would kill me slower, let you savor it for a moment, knowing I¡¯m paralyzed and feeling the pain, trying to breathe and can¡¯t, still a guaranteed kill, just a nastier one. In case you were thinking it.¡±

    ¡°No¡­I too just want this to be over quick.¡± He said, letting out a deep breath and firing a hollow-point through Mike¡¯s eye socket, killing him instantly. ¡°World has enough suffering already, not enough quick deaths.¡± He finished, firing a round into Nadja¡¯s already partial head, firing a second round into Mike¡¯s ribs, and wiping down the gun, placing it in Nadja¡¯s hand. He sighed, picking up the brass and firing another shot from her height, and from her cold dead hand. He put the revolver in Mike¡¯s hand and stood back, making his way to the truck. He pulled from the driveway and dialed Tanner, relieved to get the answering machine.

    ¡°Tanner, It¡¯s Yuri. It¡¯s over. I shot Nadja. Mike made me bring her body to the church for ritual and special bullets, insisting she would come back to life without using the bullets and killing her on holy ground. So she stays dead this time. He was right about both things. She shot him first in the chest, he shot her twice, and I shot her from reflex. Mike is dead. Bullet in the lung, bleeding badly, I gave him mercy round to the head. Quicker, painless. You will find both bodies. I am leaving to go find my home. Pray to your god, I ever get there. I have no god to pray to. I am sorry. He died not as Mister Black, but as Mike Finn, defending you, his country and his faith. He died killing the monster, not as one.¡± He said, hanging up and staring forward, unsure of the future.

    Tanner sprinted through the grass with Alexander closely behind her and collapsed on the ground near the bodies.

    ¡°Tanner, love. Don¡¯t look.¡± He begged. She stared blankly at his body, refusing to blink or cry.

    ¡°No¡­ I need closure. I can feel something reaching out to me, and I need to let him go. Alex, I was right, Mike was still in there, but he¡¯s gone now. He was protecting us the whole time, but he killed a lot of people to do it. That had to have torn him up inside. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m glad he¡¯s dead because he¡¯s at peace, or because it¡¯s all just¡­over. I need to say goodbye to them both in my own way¡­very different ways.¡± She said, drawing her red SMG and mag-dumping the entire hold of 50 rounds into Nadja¡¯s corpse. ¡°So that felt kinda nice. Die in hell, you demonic fucking slutbag.¡± She said, throwing the gun in the pond, ¡°Well, that¡¯s my goodbye to her. So no more Nadja, No more Mike bullets, or Mike gun, no more Mike. That¡¯s it. You¡¯re stronger than me, you drag his body into the pond¡­ I¡¯ll get the two lighter halves of the bitch.¡± She said calmly, as if in a daze. Alex heaved the body up by the feet and dragged it down the little fishing dock. Letting him go, as Tanner chucked Nadja¡¯s lower half in the pond. She grabbed the wrists and gave the top half a heave, swinging it and letting go with a flinch, retracting her hand with a strange look.

    ¡°Are you injured?¡± Alex asked.

    ¡°No¡­¡± she said, shaking off her dazed expression with a slight smile and a hint of blood. ¡°I actually feel fairly good, considering.¡± She said as Alex checked her hand.

    ¡°What a truly incredible level of evil for someone to have, to be killed twice in the same hour, cut in half and disposed of, and yet managed to still scratch someone post-mortem with those fucking horrendous nails of hers." Alex chuckled.

    ¡°I dunno. Always kinda liked the nails. Might let mine grow out.¡± Tanner sighed.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t normally tempt you, but I think in the aftermath of it all, you deserve a drink if you so choose.¡± Alex said, taking the flask he found next to Mike, assuming it was his.

    ¡°D-...yea why not.¡± She shrugged. Catching it and knocking back a swing, not a flinch or a cringe. She poured the last swig out on the ground to Mike¡¯s memory. ¡°Goodbye Michael.¡± She grinned, turning and sashaying through the grass, her right middle and index finger nails lightly tapping the flask in quick session, with a rhythmic 1-2¡­1-2 gallop, as she walked. Alexander hugged her tightly, sharing his coat.

    ¡°Damn, Darling. You are absolutely freezing. Will you recover?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I adapt.¡± She said coldly.