Harbinger

He had been sitting at the kitchen table since he had returned. Only drinking iced tea (the ice had long since melted), she could tell by the tension of his shoulders and the silence in the room, that he wanted something with a bit more kick. He was smart though; knew it would lead to no good.

"When're they supposed to be here?"

This was the third time he'd asked. "Last time they were here, they said it'd be by five."

"It's getting on to six, now. How long do they expect me to wait! Do they think I've got nothin better to do?!" He slammed his fist as he finished the last, his frustration boiling over. Slices of the summer sun illuminate dust motes suspended in the kitchen, blown about by the slow spin of the ceiling fan; they are as they should be, oblivious to the anger and pain.

She knew he wasn't mad at her. Knew he was mad at the situation, at their lack of recourse. Did he know the word or just the feeling? He certainly didn't have the same education that she did. This was the third time the men would be out; the final time, she thought. Last time, when James had been on a job, they said "he'd better be home next time", this day, "or there'd be hell to pay". Well, they were both here; there really wasn't much they could do about the coming storm. In a very short while, if they didn't give in voluntarily, they'd be forced to do so and it would go much worse for them.

James was all for holding out to the bitter end, but she was slightly more realistic (Or was she pessimistic? Or apathetic? Or something else?) She'd been advocating signing for several months now, ever since they'd caught wind of what was coming. Maybe, because she knew so much more of the world, she had a better idea of how it usually ended when the small and good fought the powerful and uncaring. Maybe, since she hadn't grown up here, she simply didn't feel the same sense of ownership or pride as James; she didn't feel she belonged here..

She would've continued to sag against the counter, thinking sad thoughts and staring at her husband if he hadn't broken her train of thought.

"Sue, I hear them. Don't see 'em yet, but I hear 'em. They're coming."

"Honey, please call me Susanne. You know I don't like Sue." There was no trace of anger or bitterness. Maybe a slight sadness, at the end.

"Sorry about that Susanne". You could tell it was an old subject, one that had been worn comfortable by years of use. "They're still comin. Care to join me outside? Might as well have that educated brain of yours out there to help this simple farmer." There was a smile on his face. This was another of those well worn subjects, though it had been worn clear through from envy and distrust straight to love and understanding. He put his arm around his wife's waist as they stepped onto the front porch.

As they stepped outside, she felt a strange little bite to the air...almost as if a storm was coming. Absentmindedly, she thought of latching the storm windows and preparing the cellar; making sure there was protection and food and water down there. She'd adapted well to life and the inherent storms of the Great Plains. They could come on suddenly, with a violence that was hard to fathom if you hadn't been through one. Or, you'd feel them building for a day or three...the feeling becoming more pervasive and threatening. Since she couldn't see anything on the horizon, she chalked it up to an oncoming storm and let it go.

As James and Susanne cleared the front steps and started to crunch down the walk to the front gate, the black truck was just coming to a stop at the end of their drive. It didn't exactly skid to a stop, but it wasn't a polite stop, either; kicking up much dust and scattering more than a few bits of gravel. The couple stopped on their side of the gate. The three men, having left their vehicle, adjusted their ties, their cuffs, and, finally, their jackets, stopped just on their side of the gate, waiting to be asked inside. They were kept waiting.

"Mr. Albert, I'm glad to see that you were able to make this meeting. I'm Mr. Jacobsen." Jacobsen's voice wasn't sneering or sinister, but it certainly wasn't a voice you'd want your mother to hear at Sunday brunch. "These are my associates, Mr. Silo (nodding over Jacobsen's right shoulder) and Mr. Sorel (nodding over Jacobsen's left shoulder). They probably won't have much to say, but I can assure you that they fully agree with what I've got to tell you and most definitely have my best interest fully seated in their hearts. So, what say you? Shall you invite me inside and let what must begin, begin?" He pointedly looked at the still shut, though not locked, white picket, swinging gate.

James glanced at Susanne for a second or two and made to speak, but, before sound cleared his throat, he stopped short. His cellar door (the same that his wife had been thinking of earlier) swung open as a young man, young enough to have been his teenaged son, stepped out of the ground.

He was simply dressed, but those clothes fit like skin; tailored perfectly. He walked towards the group. He wasn't hurrying, but he certainly had something on his mind. Halfway across the yard, he politely nodded to the Albert's, who's collective mouths were still open. After that quick acknowledgment, they became secondary to him. He was here for the suits.

As he approached Jacobsen & Co, the men followed his course for a moment and then looked at Albert, the question plain on their faces. Mr. Albert had no attention to give them; he, and his wife, were all for the well dressed man. The young man drew abreast of the Albert's, but slightly to their left, continuing to stare at Jacobsen. He stood in silence for moments longer, long enough to make the suits visibly uncomfortable. Then, he spoke and things changed.

"Mr. Jacobsen, Mr. Silo (looking over Jacobsen's right shoulder), Mr. Sorel (looking over the left). I see you."

"Yea, we see you as well. You seem to have the better of us and, as your hosts appear to have lost their manners, I must ask for your name?"

"Mr. Jacobsen, do not disrespect the Albert's again. That time has passed. My name is not for you to know; you may call me H, as in help or harbinger. You have little time left. Have you anything to say?" At this last, Jacobsen felt a strange little shiver at the base of his neck; something wasn't quite right with this fellow and it bothered him. Things that bothered him made him angry. He didn't know who this man was, but he knew how he dealt with things that bothered him.

"Only a little time left for what?  Who the fuck are you? Popping up out of the ground with some dramatic entrance like your some damn angel. Why don't you just get the fuck on. Step the fuck out down that road. You’re really pissing me off and that's not something that you want. Now, GET!"

"I told you not to disrespect the Albert's again; that language is foul. Your time is up." With that, he drew a large handgun from beneath his tailored jacket and shot all three men; Silo and Sorel received the first two shots, one each to the head. Jacobsen received two, one to the heart and one to the head. The men all died without making a sound; the gun itself seemed strangely quiet. When finished, H put the weapon back beneath his jacket, turned and began to make his way back towards the cellar.

Before he made it more than a few steps, Mrs. Albert made to touch his arm. H, apparently hearing her movement and guessing what she might do, turned.

"Please, do not touch me. What is it I may do for you?"

"Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing? Son, I may not like those men a whit, but you just committed at least three major crimes on my property. Son, you just killed those men." While speaking, Mr. Albert's voice went from a near yell to a near whisper, only barely audible at the end.

"Mr. Albert, please mind your tongue. As for who I am, you do not need to know, either. Please think of me as your guardian, if it helps you. As for what I'm doing, I am protecting you. Sometimes, I grow tired of what I see and then I act. It is not often, but it is quick and I have no mercy. Those men and those they work for are the next thing to evil; what they do is wrong. I dislike that."

"Yea, I agree with you on what they were, but I still don't agree with you killing them. That's just not right!! Sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice again."

"Right? Who are you to say what is right? It is for greater than you and I to decide that. I simply act. To forestall further questions, do not you worry about them. They will be taken care of. As will the corporation. No one from that organization or your authorities will bother you." With that, he turned and began walking back towards the cellar. The Albert's continued to stare, though their stares were a bit more thoughtful and a bit less surprised. As H descended the stairs he grabbed the  door, but before he closed it, he turned back to the couple.

"They deserved that and you deserved that. Good Day"