DEAD HEROES (A recollection by Ti Cuff)

The Talbot was a lifeline of sorts in the sometimes harsh and almost always hot southwestern Texas town. It connected the hardworking men of the Peterson Millworks on one end with the bulk of it's patrons families on the other. Pretty much the coldest beer in town and sometimes the hottest conversation. Friday night, there would be a fight, at least one, there always was and the who or the why didn't matter, it just could not be a southwestern honky tonk with out it.

Calvin Watts sat alone in a booth sipping and watching as his coworkers flowed with experienced and familiar passion, occasionally offering a wave to the 'new guy'. He didn't really like to hang out in places like this, more of a chore really. Calvin didn't like people, didn't like them at all but he had been on a bit of a dry spell, needed to get serious about his work and with his occupational skill as a welder it made sense to come to this 'men wanted' town and ply his trade. Coming this far away, signing up for a legitimate job was contrary to how he always worked but it had already paid dividends. He'd found a dumpy trailer to rent during the week and was at the Talbot to gear up for the three hour drive to his real home. He watched for the inevitable deer rutting buck that would challenge his unknown self. He would leave before it happened, wasn't safe for anyone here to know what he could really do.

He scrutinized every inhabitant of the bar, isolating the shortest drunk punk, there always was at least one, looking to take out the big guy, he would want to present himself to the ultimate fighting challenge, Texas style, but Calvin had higher, or lower designs and intents. He sought out a real target. A true enemy. Calvin was a big man, his aura was as strong as his person appeared. Clean cut, all American male with mannerisms to match. It was all part of his mission in life. The mission was all that mattered and the placement in the bar was to gather intelligence, seek and find.

Calvin's face would never betray him and his actions were always away from prying eyes. He followed the flow of the patrons with undetectable but insatiable lust. His longings were not limited to women, not really his preference and children left an empty sensation within him. He had no burning desire for the female gender although he had found lately they presented themselves with greater frequency. What lit his passionate desires were men, big strong men, men that could fight back, made it all seem right.

Calvin killed people, call him a mass murderer, call him a serial killer, that is what the eggheads would label him. Sociopath, psychopath, down some warped path, but it wouldn't be true. There isn't a descriptor for what he was and more horrifying no clear cut answer for why he was. There would never be an entry in a FBI profile index to explain what this abomination was, couldn't be, and most of that was a good thing since the populace wants an explanation of why bad things, very bad things happen and there was no socially acceptable explanation for a Calvin. He was a misfit, the worst type and no expert would ever get the opportunity to publish the fact that he was born and raised in a happy home, fair yet firm, raised not reared. There weren't any drunks or addicts, no perverts or late night fondles, no life shattering events, no mind altering human traumas, nothing that could be explained, nothing believable that is.

Calvin just new he was supposed to kill, had known for a very long time. It came to him like a whisper, not voices, more like a curtain of understanding that surrounded him one day and opened a door that was sealed shut as he entered. It didn't become a part of him he became a part of it and every detail had been revealed, his future, his mission in life. Part of it was that he needed to gain the physical tools to perform and had to develop the mental discipline to maintain his existence. The military was the logical progression, the beginning of his path and he followed the special operations script with honors, it gave him the untold ways to kill and to do so silently and without a trace. Whoever, wherever, whenever. That was the return that special operations expected on investment and the military had a lot invested in his talents. He was a prodigy that they couldn't waste in a unit, in full view, stealth was another of his disciplines, remaining undetected, often hidden in plain sight until the target was acquired and eliminated. Discipline and disciplines.

Calvin was as intelligent as he was effective as at first a military gem and then later jobbed out as an asset for the CIA, mostly in South and Central America. He quickly saw through the agencies plans for the likes of him and those like him, was able to figure it out as his cohorts, one by one, would be placed in increasing and more perilous situations always ending up the same way. No return. That's what they did with the really good ones knowing there would be plenty more where that came from. It was all part of his real mission, they gave him the tools he had needed and when the time came he fooled them, wasn't going to be one of the inevitable invisibles, he changed the script, deserved an Oscar for his portrayal of a remorseful and guilt ridden human being that couldn't stomach it anymore. He tricked them with their own training. Breakdown, honorable discharge, dumped on the unsuspecting streets of America.

This town was way out of his normal hunting range but it was not unfamiliar to him, so much of Texas is pretty much the same and the people, the groupings, were almost identical. He studied. Searched through the conversations for a possibility. There were two men in the booth next to where he was facing, the closer was an older man with long hair, gray mixed in dark brown wearing a light jacket, no hat. The younger man, the one Calvin could partially see was animating with his hands and his voice was clear enough to pick up some talk about Iraq. Calvin strained to get the specifics, couldn't hear any of the olders response. He felt someone coming up towards him, glanced, a young man, early twenties, barely, and he turned and smiled.

"Yo Calvin!" The young man was feeling good naturally, hadn't soaked yet. He stood at the empty side of the booth, very correctly pausing, waiting to be invited.

"Be my guest." Calvin appreciated his respect. Gazed into his innocent eyes. Just by sitting with Calvin would eliminate him, as a target.

"I know you're the new guy in town, can I buy you a drink? Sir?"

"I'm fine, have to get on the road, but thank you, that is very courteous." Calvin's diction was perfect, very clear. Kid must have been raised right, just like he had been.

"Well sir I was gonna ask you, if you don't mind. You're pressed, I mean we just did a hard ten and your as crisp as a new note, how do you do that?"

"It's all about discipline. Every part of you reflects and if you do not have that sense about you, if you are sloppy, it shows up somewhere else."

"Like where?" The kid was sincere.

"Well, the job, being sloppy can get you hurt, sometimes even killed." Calvin wasn't talking about welding.

The only use chit chat had was for gathering, not only those that needed to be weeded from society but for those that should remain, the kid was in the later group. In his peripheral he sensed another man, early forty, drifting within earshot, he looked back at the out of place pair in the booth next to him, no change, turned back to the young man.
"Yeah, discipline, that's what I want to ask you about, you learned that in the military, right?" The boy had genuine interest.

"Yes, let me guess, you want to know if I ever killed anyone?" Calvin probed, it was the question almost everyone wanted to know, morbid curiosity.

"Well, sir, not really, I'm getting serious about which branch to join, leaning hard to the Marines, I want to serve, it's being a part of history and I want to be in it." The kid was a good man, had a good thought, if it happened, it would be someone else that would take his shot.

"Marines, Army, don't matter, all of it beats the hell out of this shit hole." Calvin smiled and the kid chuckled.

"Hey, I knew it, let me guess." The older coworker had drifted in close enough to participate. "Army, rangers."

"Something like that." Calvin looked over to the next booth, he still had nothing but the back of the olders head and that was shielding the face of the younger, it seemed as if they had went quiet as soon as his company arrived. The newcomer opened up.

"I'm Desert Storm, cakewalk to what our boys are doing now but it was the greatest thing I've ever done. I just wish they would have let us ride to Baghdad, bitch slap Sadam then." The man openly showed pride but Calvin kept his feelings hidden. Calvin was old school, up and personal, not this new breed of long distance 'shock and awe', that was all for CNN, the made for TV movie. Real war is eye to eye, tip to tip.

"Missed that, I had business down south." The desert vet looked at Calvin's' cold eyes, understood, one of those you had to be there and hear some of the stories to know what kind of action happened, 'down south', nothing clean, nothing nice, nothing honorable.
"To serve is to serve, salute!" The man grinned and the two ex soldiers raised and drank. "C'mon kid, let the man enjoy his beer." They nodded, that was two off the list.

The best way for someone not to become Calvin's mission, a target, was to open a conversation. Part of the avoidance of detection. Be not known, be not a part of an investigation, pick your targets with skill and stealth, never in the open among prying eyes. He looked back at the next booth and could just make out the edge of the youngers face, he shifted over a bit just to get a better vantage without making it too obvious. He could hear them now, well the younger, the older man spoke so soft that the only way to tell was the gap in the youngers voice and his visual expression of absorption. He trained.

"You vets are all the same, have to have a war or your not happy." The hairs on Calvin's nape bristled as he felt the words come at him as if they were intended to, the youngers eyes stayed focused, he had a short crop, nice suit, very nice suit and spoke in a tone, the tone, the one that always isolated themselves with it's total lack of respect, always drew Calvin's ire.

"It's bullshit, the President lied to us to clean up his fathers mess, we have no business being over there."

Calvin strained to hear the olders retort but at the same time got a clear view of the younger mans eyes, just for a second, then they returned to face his antagonist. He saw something in them, wasn't sure, something he rarely came across but just a hint.
"No different than Vietnam, baby killers." The younger mans voice was venom, hateful, and Calvin felt his blood boil.

Target acquired. He wanted him, bad, but it wasn't clean, too many people, too many possible witnesses, conflict between a mission and the ability to complete the next. Calvin calmed. Pairs didn't bother him, done plenty of those but normally hikers, campers, an occasional hitchhiking duo, the seemingly never ending stream of illegals, the only thing that fit was they were out of towners. Not enough. He looked away, at the ever growing crowd, needed to get going, forget the foolish mission, there would be plenty later. A short man at the bar looked his way, gave the tell tale grin, he'd challenge soon, it was time to go.

"You know I'm right you prick." It was almost a punctuation.

Calvin waited to witness the response, the older man rose, tossed a bill on the table and then walked out as the other man followed, trying to keep up. The older never turned to face the upstart, just walked away, Calvin never did get the chance to see his face. He watched, even the youngers body language oozed malcontent, begging for Calvin's special attention, almost beckoning him to follow. He waited for the two to disappear into the growing crowd then got up and turned the other direction, to the other exit and as he passed, the short man, the rutting buck at the bar was caught off guard at the quick exit, looked and then spun on his stool, too slow for even a challenge, he'd have to pick a fight with someone else. They could all sit in the bar and pickle their brains to their hearts content. Calvin had a job to do.
Calvin didn't fully expect to aquire his target but he had been in so many similar situations that he would have to follow the lead, just in case. He turned quickly at the rear exit, towards his truck which he unlocked and entered, pretending not to watch the two men approach the black BMW sedan. Big rule out. Someone with that kind of money would be missed, not like most of his victims, nobody ever missed them. One of the reasons was they never had a body to grieve over, never would, their bodies would never be found, there would not be a constant haunting of the horrible fate they met.

The two men continued to argue and Calvin thought it was odd that he still had not seen the olders face, he could tell a lot from a face, the eyes, and it bothered him, like a critical aspect of the mission not shared. He sat and cranked up the diesel work truck, custom job on a one ton frame with enclosed workshop in the back, welding, other stuff. Calvin took a deep sniff, smiled, hardly a trace at all of his last mission, wrapped and taped in the back, waiting for final and proper disposal. He'd perfected every aspect of killing and disposal and with the ever present heat of the Texas sun to contend with it was quite an accomplishment. He could get two to three days before the stench of decomp would betray him, plenty of time.

The knowledge of his package gave him two things, one was that he had chores at home and to forget about the punk, the malcontent, the other thought was that because of the soft and almost repulsive skin of the young woman in the back he had a strong desire to remove that sensation. He backed up the truck just as the BMW was pulling out, headed the same direction, one of only four. He slowly pulled out. The lot was filling up and the foot traffic was all towards the entrance, excited about swinging on their lifeline, in total ignorance as to who was leaving and in what direction.

The black car zoomed forward and was quickly out of sight as Calvin ambled at his own pace. The further the distance the less the opportunity and slowly any thoughts of a double bagger were replaced by the 'punk in the trunk' and how his latest haunt had served him so well. He reminisced. The bus depot. Lots of people going lots of places and so many of them alone and paying cash, long distance bus meant running towards or running away. In his mind he replayed and rehearsed the events of the night. He had found a quiet spot with a full view and just waited until the target made themselves known.

She was mouthy, bitching the counter out for the delay, paid cash, alone, sat next to a stranger and started a conversation but with her voice, her demeanor, it became some stupid argument. She had a chip on her shoulder in the shape of a bullseye, begging for attention by demanding it in the most obnoxious way. That was almost always the key to their doom, using volume and verbal acid to hide the fact they really didn't have anything to say. Calvin just watched and waited and when the girls bus finally arrived she was the first one in the line, not by flow but by force, nudging and pushing up in order to get the perfect seat.

He knew where the bus was going, the opposite direction from his temporary trailer town and even further than his home base. Perfect. The further the better and he followed for hours, passing the bus a few miles before it would hit the spot, knowing that the driver would pull over to a closed station, for a stretch, just like he does every night but on this night Calvin would be waiting, hidden in the dark night, waiting for the target.

True to form those who were still awake, restless, came out and circled about, shaking the ride out of their bones and there was the target, desiring separation from the safety of the group, the same thing she sought as a runaway and a malcontent, walking further away from the bus, too far and as she hit the wrong shadow, Calvin was on her, stole her consciousness with the butt of his blade, pulled her into the black void then into the truck, waited. The bus would collect the passengers, would never even pay attention to the MIA, would give a blast of the horn, wait a proper time, then leave. It did.

Calvin pulled her out, waited for her to wake up, allowed her to scream just to relish the silence that would soon replace it. She looked in horror as he plunged the blade deep into her chest, through the ribs and puncturing her heart, holding her hair back and absorbing her eyes until there was nothing left in them but cold. She would never bitch and moan again, did everyone a favor. He cleaned up and wrapped his deed. The kill wasn't the whole mission, making sure no one ever found out what happened was much more important. Target acquired and retired. Very soon it would be mission accomplished. His mind returned to the road.

The killer had been driving for an hour and a half and he'd soon hit the intersection that would snake him away from the sparse traffic and down the road towards home base. All thoughts of the young man at Talbots had faded away. He started to slow for the turn, automatically scanning the abandoned Amoco at the crossroads and zeroed in on the figure that was trying fruitlessly to make a call at the pay phone. Hadn't worked in years and Calvin became intrigued at the figure who was now easily in view and even more easily recognized as the young malcontent in the bar. It would seem too convenient but it wasn't, it happened this way a lot, little presents. There was no sign of the black beemer and the man continued to drop change, retrieve and drop again until he surrendered the effort with a sidearm of receiver into the box. Calvin pulled in and stopped, got out of the truck as the man spun around, dusty and out of place, flustered.

"You got troubles son?" Calvin's voice was calm, reassuring.

"Yeah, my driver, the prick, I swear I'll kill the bastard." The man pulled out his cell, waving it meticulously in every direction, trying to raise a bar.

"Cell phones don't work too well out here." Calvin was studying, deciding.

"That's how all this started, I needed to make a call, no signal, had him pull in the station, he called me a moron, told me to just wait." The mans face turned to indignation. "The asshole, he works for me, calling me a moron!" The young mans voice was grating to Calvin, every syllable was like cuticle to chalkboard, the tone, grating. Calvin turned, two minute drill, that's all the time he ever stayed out in the open. As he walked he looked up the road where the black car had been heading, not a sign of it, he reached for his door.

"Hey, dude, I mean sir" The man corrected and adjusted his tone.

"He'll be back, just making you sweat, trying to teach you some manners." Calvin wanted him but restraint and discipline made him feel uncomfortable.

"No, no." The man half pleaded. "He's one of those semper fi hoorah rahs, don't take shit off anyone. He'll leave me out here to rot." Calvin's hand was on the door handle but he paused. The young man came towards him with his hands out in a sign of resignation. "Please, my bad, my mistake, can you give me a lift, just to a phone or a zone."

Calvin's instincts were conflicted. He saw the man as a mission and the deserted intersection, even in broad daylight hadn't been graced by a vehicle since he stopped. He didn't have a good sense of it but who do we fool, Calvin didn't have anything good in him at all and the repulsive soft flesh of the skinbag in the back of his truck was still on his being, it would be great to rid him of that and the kid looked tough, maybe only gym tough, but finding out was always part of it all.

"Listen, give me a ride, I'll pay your gas, plus five bucks a mile, however far you take me."

"OK, what do you do? What is your job?" Calvin inquired.

The man relaxed and pulled out a card, handed it.

"I broker real estate, commercial, I was on my way to San Antone, lost my license, long story." Calvin glanced at the card, seemed satisfied, stuffed it in his pocket.

"Well lets get going." Calvin started to open his door. Relented, relished.

"Heh, uh, I just want to let you know, I'm carrying." The man pulled his jacket open so Calvin could see the strapped down Sig Sauer, 'yuppy' gun he thought.

"It's Texas boy, everyone carries, get in."

They entered and cranked up the truck and Calvin looked for any traffic, nothing coming, hadn't been a soul since he pulled in. He would let fate decide, he would pull onto the main road and drive a bit, half a mile, if no other vehicles showed, either direction, he'd make his move. He pulled on the road and sped forward. The man buckled and then sat back. He took in a heavy breath, through his nose, noticed something odd, betrayed himself with his face.

"Big mistake boy." The words were as ominous as the blow.

Calvin's closed fist backhand hit the sweet spot between the mans brows, robbed him of consciousness. He pulled out the Sig and tossed it in the back seat, quickly pulled out the slumps billfold, studied the contents, all seemed to match, some rich punk, selling business condos, platinum cards, Texas id card, not allowed to drive. Calvin's concentration returned to the road ahead he searched for any other signs of not being solitary, there were no other vehicles. He slowed and then turned quickly around, heading back from where he came, looking everywhere for anyone else and turned at the intersection, heading for home base, driving at a normal clip for a mile where he knew there was a thick area of brush all the time watching the rear and front views.

He pulled off the road and stealthed amongst the heavy foliage: mesquite, sagebrush, and tumbleweed, hiding, got out, then walked around with his knife drawn towards his prey. He quickly took a plastic strap and secured the mans ankles, then his wrists, then took a another strap and joined the two. Another strap to the neck and the headrest bar, tight enough to limit movement but not too tight, had to allow him to breath. He didn't bother to check for a pulse, knew the man would be out for a bit but wasn't dead, just enough of calculated swat for a little brain scramble, just enough power to shut the fool down. Calvin calmed his excitement, controlled his adrenaline, this was a rarity, having a perp come home for dinner.

Calvin headed for the one time family farm but now his domain, his home base, not concerned about pursuit and becoming even less concerned the more miles he put behind him. If the driver returned to the Amoco he would draw the only possible conclusion; that some good ol boy had rescued the punk, that the little shit would bribe his way to freedom. Everything was perfect and in the end one more malcontent would be silenced forever, another mission accomplished, a two for but this one would be a sweet bleed, a personal fantasy of his. Very personal.

They were about a half hour out when the passenger began to stir. It would be one hell of a headache but Calvin had the eternal cure for that. The man was groggy and confused and flinched to test the strength of his bonds. His consciousness slowly returned and with it his defiance.

"You sick shit, you can't do this, you don't know who your messing with you bastard prick..."

Calvin swung a repeat but stopped short of the mans skull, slowly pulled his fist away and opened his hand, placed his pointer to his lips, the universal sign for shut the hell up.
"Be polite, no need for that kind of language." Calvin's voice was of self control, patience.
"Oh yeah, tough guy, you want to make me scared, like get my imagination going, how about we just fight it out, like men, one on one."

"Sounds good to me boy, hope your up for it, now shut up or I'll make you nap again."

The younger man relented and watched as they drove the rest of the way as if waiting for the proper time to make a move though Calvin knew that anything that the captive was allowed would be at the captors will. They slowed, readied for a turn.

"Listen, I have money, lots of it, I can give you enough to where you can disappear, won't even exist, get you out of the country if you want. Start up somewhere new."

Calvin looked at the man as they turned into a narrow opening, scoffed.

"I'm already invisible and I don't care about money."

The younger man silenced as they washboarded over the dusty and windblown dirt road. Very windy, dust devils dancing on both sides of the abandoned fields as they bounced and sped forward for miles. Calvin maintained his vigil ahead and behind but the closer he got to home base the more excited he became, they slowed once again, this time turning into an even narrower opening surrounded by a mesquite thicket where he stopped the truck.

Calvin walked up to the opening and inspected the thin line, almost thread, invisible unless you knew it was there line, satisfied himself then returned. He drove through his little trick and past the neatly planted fields of rye grass, past the humble but meticulous farm house and up to the weathered barn complimented with the signature silo. Calvin stopped the truck and disembarked, unlocking the back of the truck and then doing the same with the front door of the barn then returning to his captive.

"I'm going to cut your necktie" Calvin began as he returned. "Not the fancy silk one. After that you are going to swing out and lay on the ground. Then, when I have done a proper search, I am going to cut your other ties. Got it?"

The young man nodded but had an odd concentration that Calvin noticed, could read his desire.

"Ain't no one going to get you out of this. This is your war now, your battle, my mission.

The man complied and wriggled down to the ground where Calvin meticulously began the search beginning by cutting off the suit jacket, patting, folding it and laying it down. Next came the shirt, sliced at the back to reveal the white T but no arms. Calvin had almost expected a tattoo on the arm but there was none, no scars, no piercings and it was obvious that the man spent a lot of time in the gym, sculpted, looked strong. Studio stud. Bowflex buck. Next came the belt, cut from behind and drawn out, the shoes, placed neatly on top of the growing pile of ruined style. Calvin sliced around the splicing binds as he worked, it was obvious he was well practiced and the man was finally down to boxers, T and socks. Calvin reached down the boxers and the man responded.

"You sick fuck, you pervert." The man tried to roll away but the power of his antagonist drew him back and the strong hand slipped from behind and with a forceful yank freed him of his jewel.

"Cute." Calvin smiled as he examined the Austrian 25 acp. "This what you been waiting for?"
Calvin stuck the gun in his pocket. "Should have let you keep it, by the time you got it out of your jock strap I would have had your liver out." Calvin tossed the pile of clothes into the nearby burn barrel then with two quick flicks the straps were off and the man was on his feet.

"Got some chores to do before we play boy, get the perp out of the truck."

"Think your some Ed Gein wannabe, should have killed me when you had the chance you sick bastard."

"That's good, spunk, hope your fight is as nasty as your mouth. You ever kill a man?"

"Counting you?" He shot back, standing defiantly.

Calvin pulled out the pistol and pointed at the young mans chest, motioned him towards the back of the truck and as the punk pulled the wrap from the truck Calvin had a sensation. The arrogance, the tone, cocky for the sake of cocky was one thing but being able to walk the walk was something else and for the first time he took the time to gaze into the mans eyes as he shouldered the wrapped corpse. The eyes, didn't get a good look before, just the hint and it was very rare to see it in others, seen it all the time in his own eyes, didn't like it and yet loved it, he was now intrigued and that part of his existence, the part that had replaced libido, sexual want and desire, was yearning.

"Kinda light ain't it, you like killing little girls, oh no, don't tell me your gonna make we watch as you screw a decayed corpse, hell I'd rather you just slit my throat."

"It ain't about torture, ain't about sex, it's all about respect, somethin you ain't got, gonna teach it to ya. Like I taught her." Calvin didn't notice that his diction had slipped.

"Yeah right, your just a creepy, what do they call it, necrophiliac, corpse fucker." The mans obnoxious tone increased but Calvin ignored it, just trying to get him to make a mistake, it wouldn't happen.

They entered the barn. There was plenty of light filtering through the cracks from the soon to be setting sun and they headed past the abandoned coops, to the side of the barn that connected to the silo where he had the captive open the door, struggling with the dead girl he led them into the converted grain storage bin. There were stacks of baled hay neatly arranged in layers chest high and in the center of them were four squared together. They climbed up, Calvin maintaining proper distance as the younger struggled with the body and the darkness.
"I can't see you asshole." The man protested.

"Your eyes will adjust, lay her down and pull off the center bales, set them behind you."

Once the bales were removed it revealed a four by four steel panel, and though commanded to open it the young man stopped half way, the stench of decayed bodies forced him to drop it back into place.

"Enough of this bullshit, Watts, I'm done playing your sick game."

The killer raised his blade, the kid was last standing and Calvin was really going to enjoy this one, salesman to the end, first trying to buy his way out and now taunting him into making an error, he moved slowly towards his quarry, paused, a sensation flushed over and through him, every instinct, every aspect of his being rang out in alarm, he slowly started back towards the man who was now ready for conflict, feet squared, hands and arms positioned, he paused, again, his name, how did he know his name and even stronger than that revelation was something else. A presence.

He tossed the pistol at the young man, just enough distraction to bull rush forward while the gun was on the way, the killer knocked him off his feet with a ram of his shoulder. The two men grappled but Calvin had too much strength and skill, twisting the arm up and out with one massive hand, lifted him up, holding the blade to the throat with the other.

"Come out, show yourself or I'll slice this bitch."

Calvin shouted and strained in the near dark silo, the only light coming from the doorway, highlighting on him but not the perimeter. He couldn't see who was there but he could feel him. He strained towards the doorway as a figure appeared out of the darkness, a silhouette, a shadow, holding two pistols, long hair that outlined his shadow disguised face, an almost undetectable soft green glow where his eyes should be, he seemed to be of another world. Close to the truth. It was the driver, the old guy at Talbot's.

"Chill out Calvin, it's over, you're done." The voice wasn't harsh, just strong, matter of fact.

"Not yet, got one more." Calvin had been caught, 'how could that be, how stupid'.

"So tell me what the hell happened in Atlanta?" The voice questioned.

"I've never been to Atlanta." Calvin was confused, the question made no sense to him.

"Wasn't talking to you, Calvin, your a dead man, a misfit, wasn't sure till I saw that saran job come out." The voice wasn't demeaning, had no sense to it, just talking. "I was asking that piece of shit your holding what happened in Atlanta. So tell me Shield, what were you thinking?"

"Don't know what your talking about sir." He strained.

"Don't call me sir you shit, you killed a friendly, freelanced, stepped out of protocol."

"You got it all wrong, it was self defense, it was clean."

"Ain't nothing clean about you Shield, you spiked an innocent, why, some old score? Someone rolled you and stole your lunch money in middle school? Stole your girl?"

"That ain't how it went down." The younger tested his bounds, Calvin constricted.
"It went down, that's all that matters, you broke protocol, you screwed yourself, just like today. Wedding bells are the only ones you can unring Shield, you drew friendly blood and what about today? What the hell is wrong with you, I told you to take him out at the gas station, disable him and meet me here, you moron, look at you, your in your freaking bvd's for God's sake, your an embarrasment."

"What I did in Atlanta, what's the big deal? We kill people all the time, it's what we do."

"Not friendlies, never friendlies." The voice went beyond a scold.

"There are no friendlies." Shields voice was laced with the venom that had peeked Calvin's interest in the first place. He wasn't acting, hadn't been practiced to be the only bait that could expose the murderer.

Calvin's head was spinning and for the first time in decades he felt as if he was holding his knife to the throat of an ally and at the same facing someone who was not his enemy. He was confused, trapped, face to face with his failure, trapped by what he was. Tricked by his truth. His thoughts went to his worst case scenario plan, he had to trigger it. He'd never be taken alive and would have to make a move or his missions would end, his war would be over and he would have lost it. Rage was a part of it.

"I swear I'll kill him." He shouted angrily, hatefully.

"You putz, your as incompetent as he is, you were already supposed to have killed him, you are two of a kind. Go ahead, take care of my light work, save the country 45 cents, going rate for one round of lead love."

"What are you talking about, this is bullshit." The younger man realized what was happening. He struggled but Calvin wrapped and twisted tighter, the razor edge drawing out first blood from the fruitless test of strength.

"Lets try pabulum feed Shield, you are a misfit, misfits by definition are ex military that murder people, we hunt down and kill misfits, why do you think my shields never survive a wetwarm? They are not supposed to. You were just bait, to draw this one out and what about that? You can't follow my command. Your as worthless as the misfit fixin to split your throat."

"But the agency, it made me, created me?" He was incredulous.

"No we conceived you, RvW and today I'm in touch with my feminine side, pro choice, your second generation, we didn't recruit you to hunt down misfits, we recruited you because you are a guaranteed misfit, the old enemy closer routine, we just use you until you turn on the gen-pop."

"Stop it." Calvin was getting enraged at being apart from it all, a sideline, he had never imagined his end would come this way. "It's a trick!" He shouted.


The sense of some mystery being solved washed over the shield and he took his only shot, knew what the shadow said was true, it made total sense to him now and if ever there was a rock, and a very hard place, that was where he stood. In unison he angled the back of his head to where he was sure Calvin's face was while aiming his free arm at Calvin's knife holding elbow, his only chance, had to be fast, accurate, it was neither and at the initial strain the killer arced the steel through his fleshy throat and to the bone of his neck, tossing him down as the blood flowed in all directions, Calvin dove forward with all the speed he possessed, over the feeble swing of the fallen, straight at his tormentor. Just as useless a motion as the now dying young man had made.

Knife still in hand he rushed and a muffled shot echoed throughout the silo and the knife left him, spinning him off his path as another shot took his kneecap and the ability to motor away, he fell, tripping over his wounded leg, falling down at the mans feet, too far away. Two rounded barrels were aimed at his skull as he looked up at his conqueror.

"Sit back Calvin." The voice had not changed. "Tell me how many."

Calvin was still dazed, not by the pain in his knee and his wrist but at the defeat. The man had spoken true, it was over for him and as if to reassure himself that all of his life had been more than a dream he quickly glanced at a place in the wall, wondering if anyone would be able to decipher the hundreds of tiny etches, his missions.

"Who are you?" The soon to be dead man gasped as he sat down and relaxed, trying not to let the man see him looking for his blade..

"Ti Cuff, Ti with no e Cuff with no key, I work for the country, sort of, I hunt down military meltdowns, make them go away."

"You're not police? Not FBI?" More statement than question.

"No, but I do protect and serve, I try to protect the people you kill and serve my country at the same time."

"You're military?" This time a question, stalling, trying to figure a way out, trying to locate the knife with his mind, calculating the position when it was dislodged.

"You tilt your head one more time and I'll put a smiley face on your skull soldier!." The voice scolded, it was a command, from someone of authority. On reflex Calvin straightened up, as close to attention as a wounded man can get.

"I asked you how many. How many of your, what you call missions have you carried out, how many bodies are under this barn?"

The tormentor shifted just enough into the light so that Calvin was able to see his face. Ti took off his goggles so the condemned man could look into his eyes, to feel his truth.
"It was a whisper wasn't it? Like some drape that covered all around you, telling you what to do, how to do it, how to hide." The voice struck at that empty place where most people have a soul and for the first time in his life Calvin felt sheer terror.

"Just a whisper, that's all it was, replaced everything within in you, didn't it? I heard it too Calvin but I defied it, didn't let it take choice away from me. I told it to kiss my ass and I've been tracking it's spawn ever since."

Calvin stared at the man. The sun was beginning its daily ritual of fading towards the western horizon and with it the light, much like the slowing to an ebb of blood, draining from the now dead shield and staining the once pressed serial killers clothes.

"Listen this may sound warped but we both know how this will turn out and we both want the same thing. It's about your missions, that's what you guys call them, I call them friendlies."

"There are no friendlies."

"Just heard that, no coincidence. Listen, neither of us wants the world to find out about them, you give me want I want and I'll give you what you never gave your victims, a choice. How many?"

The eyes of Calvin's judge on earth, went straight through him and he was dazed at what he felt, as though there was now a face to match that whisper he had heard so many years ago, the same and yet complete opposite, he couldn't withhold from such a thing.

"Four hundred and twelve, uh, fourteen." Calvin recalculated.

"Where is your fence line, how far from here do you go to hunt, five hundred miles? Seven fifty, all directions."

"This your only dumpsite?"

"Yes."

"Where are your favorite haunts?"

"It's all random, I have to change all the time, find new places, new faces, it's the main mission, random."

"Where'd you get the last one?"

"Bus depot."

"Thanks Calvin." The man moved back in to the light of the doorway, replacing his goggles. Shadowed. "Now I'll give you your choice. That slump over there is a federal agent, that means an army of judges and lawyers. You'll have more head shrinkers pouring into your brain than you had victims, picking you apart while you rot for decades in a eight by twelve. You'll have every forensic lab coat in the country diggin up your missions, trying to place pictures to bones. Family reunions. I'll see to it that you never get the death penalty, that's too kind for......"

Calvin was horrified, it was the worse case scenario and thoughts of rushing forward, 'suicide by cop' or better said jumping on the grenade, paused as he waited for the other option.

"See Calvin, the only difference between me and you is I hate to kill, your unarmed, trapped like a rat in a cage, oh I'll do it if you're too much of a coward to do it yourself but I don't want to stain my soul, it's a God thing but you wouldn't know anything about that would you. Murder yourself, be your last mission and I'll seal this tomb up, layer ten feet of rock and concrete, burn this barn to the ground, no one will ever know."

A flashlight sent a ray of hope to the murderer, shined on his blade, just behind him, and he slowly reached back for it, choice, he still had one chance and grunting above his level of pain, moving slowly towards his 'door number two', slitting his own throat, blocking the view in the very dim light he grasped the tip of his knife then spun it at the man as he turned, watching the subtle yet sudden glow of the barrels and listening and feeling the muffled pops as they seared into his worthless form and came from the ground, well below the path of the blade.

The pain Calvin felt was very severe, in his chest and in his abdomen from the expertly placed lethal rounds. He slumped on the bales of hay then coughed and the real pain began as his lungs filled with blood, flowed from his nostrils and mouth.

"I hate it when you misfits pick door number three."

Calvin just looked at the man who was sitting in the dim light of the diffused dusk, almost invisible, he put his hand to his side, consciousness drifting away. He couldn't see the tar black blood coming from that wound but new what it meant, liver shot, lung shot. Bile and blood. The place began to spin around him as the only world he had know was becoming a vortex, sucking his aspect in and down and a great fear, more dynamic than horror spread through what remained of his earthly existence, a sharp and unforgiving new consciousness, the comprehension that the world really wasn't what he had thought, that it was just now beginning and knowledge, the only real knowledge, that death is not the end of it all and for the first time in his life he realized that what he had done all that time was wrong but any desire he might have of redemption, of forgiveness, the mere thought of it was futile.