Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  Mitchelli could hear the others talking in the room. They continued their discussion, but he was the only one that could see and hear Ann. The site of seeing Ann tantalized his heart, but her comments slashed at his mind.

  Ann looked at Hoss. “Peter, do you think this yahoo can keep Kaitlin and Peter safe? He looks like a pumphead from the gym, he’s big but does he have what it takes? You know--what did you tell Freed? Oh yes, finesse.”

  Ann stopped and let Mitchelli stare into her eyes. “You lied when you told Freed you didn’t have the ability to protect your children. You can do anything you set your mind too. You’ve always chosen to battle, seek out your competition, your enemy…and destroy them. You can’t make the safe decisions, you never could. A parent who can play it safe is what your children need. You told them you have no finesse; you can be a ballerina when you want something. That’s why your coach put you at strong side defensive end so someone with finesse could cover the receivers in the flat. You were only good for the dirty work--get the runners, sack the quarterback. Even your family uses you as the Hammer at work. Do your children need a hammer now? They need a father. Peter and Kaitlin need someone who’s going to know when to sit tight, hold back, run and hide. They need their father to protect them, shadow them, and look out for them.”

  Ann looked at MacJames and continued. “Peter, you think she can protect our children? She certainly cares for them. They fill the emptiness in her life, something she failed to fill on her own. I hope she knows what she’s in for. You wore me out, batten down the hatches full steam ahead, wide-open throttles, that’s Peter Mitchelli’s theme for life. You always had to do things your way, believing it was in the best interest of your family. You never asked us. You dragged us through a life you thought we wanted. I pray you realize when it comes to protecting our children from killers you don’t shoot from the hip. You have one shot, and only one shot, to keep them safe.”

  Ann stood up and leaned over the table. “Peter, are you going to be able to finish this without losing our children? Don’t drive yourself crazy worrying about letting me down, keep my children safe. Be sure of yourself and those who protect our Kaitlin and Peter. You may only have one chance.” She gazed into Mitchelli’s eyes. “Keep the weight off, and take care of yourself, my love.” And with that, she walked out of the room unnoticed, just as she had entered.

  Mitchelli closed his eyes. When they opened, he could move his hands. MacJames watched as he opened and closed his hands, amazed his fingers functioned. Suddenly he could clearly hear and comprehend the others talking in the room. He looked at MacJames wondering if he could trust her; could she protect Kaitlin and Peter?

  Hoss was looking at Mitchelli, explaining something to him. “I’m an Ultimate Fighter,” he said. “My manager thinks I’ll have shot at the title within two years.”

  Mitchelli eyes winced. “Ultimate what this weekend?” He continued to open and close his hands.

  Coarseni jumped into the fray. “Ultimate Fighting, you’ve seen it on TV, it’s where the fighters box, wrestle, and use that karate crap.”

  Hoss finished, “We’re true fighters; our gloves aren’t those big padded boxing gloves, we’re the real deal, that’s why they call it Ultimate Fighting.”

  Moss continued the discussion, explaining the manpower per shift. Hoss continued to text on his phone, annoying Mitchelli who started a slow burn, as Coarseni and MacJames watched.

  Coarseni leaned towards Angela. “Watch Peter, this should be good.”

  Mitchelli quietly spoke to Hoss, “Tom, may I see your phone?”

  “Use your own phone, can’t you see I’m busy here?” Hoss regretted his words when Moss slammed his note pad on the table. “Just let me finish this, wait a minute buddy!” Hoss never looked up from his phone as he replied.

  Mitchelli reached across the table, defiantly taking the phone from Hoss’s hands. He held the phone in the palm of his left hand and smashed it on the edge of the conference room table, splitting it in two. “You better get your head focused on your job, protecting my family, instead of wrestling naked with your friends!” A hush fell over the rest of the room as they all looked on, fearful of what might come next.

  “You just broke my phone, you old bastard! Who the hell do you think you are!” Hoss’s face turned beat red.

  Freed attempted to calm the two heavyweights. “Look boys,” he said, “let’s stay focused. We got a job to do here. Tom, let it go, if he didn’t break it, I was going to smash it anyway.”

  Mitchelli looked at Freed. “Bob, is this how you keep your promises, assigning a part-time agent in charge of protecting my kids?” Hoss’s first impression was not good. Mitchelli was purposely pushing, manipulating Hoss. Mitchelli had to antagonize Hoss, force an answer to Ann’s question. He had to see what Hoss was made of, did he have what it would take to protect his children?

  “You pretentious arrogant old man, I could lift you over my head and slam you to the ground like a rag doll.” Hoss’s face cringed with hatred. No one in the FBI office had ever confronted him before.

  “You play with dolls. Is that what you do with your buddies after a match? Is that what you Ultimate funny boys do when you’re half naked and all sweated up after groping each other?”

  Hoss yelled, “You crazy psycho! I know all about you! Marauder--you’re nothing but a myth!”

  Freed said firmly, “Tom, I’m ordering you to back off, right know.”

  “He’s provoked me, you all saw it. He’s a nutcase; he smashed my new phone--look at it.” Hoss fumbled with the broken pieces of his phone.

  “Bob, you promised me a professional agent who would keep my kids safe!” As Mitchelli finished speaking, Hoss reached across the table and hit Mitchelli in the face with a closed fist, knocking him back in his chair. Freed grabbed MacJames, pulling her away from the table. Buckala stood, ready to pounce on Hoss but Coarseni grabbed him by the arm.

  “Sal, back off, this should be good. Cover Freed, I’ll take Moss.” Coarseni stood up, ready to move.

  Mitchelli saw that MacJames was clear of the small conference table. He quickly thrust the table into Hoss’s gut, briefly surprising the ultimate fighter long enough for Mitchelli to put his hands under the table and lift it. As he stood, he rotated the table perpendicular to the floor and drove it into Hoss’s upper body and face. The force of Mitchelli pushing the table against the muscle and resistance of the young fighter broke the table in half. The table fell to the floor like cardboard.

  MacJames screamed in desperation, “Peter, your wounds; you’re going to open your sutures!”

  Freed moved towards Hoss to grab him, but Buckala grabbed him, locking arms with him. Mitchelli and Hoss, the two giants, were standing face-to-face, eye-to-eye.

  “You’re crazy, I could kill you old man,” Hoss threatened Mitchelli.

  Mitchelli growled back, “Give it all you got.”

  Hoss drove his shoulder into Mitchelli’s midsection, pushing him across the room and smashing his body up against the wall, breaking the sheetrock. Mitchelli kneed Hoss in the face, then braced himself against the wall with his foot, forcing his knee into Hoss’s stomach. Dazed from Mitchelli’s knee to his midsection and face, Hoss’s head suddenly dropped and his momentum drove his face into Mitchelli’s knee. Bewildered, Hoss swung wildly as Mitchelli moved away from the wall. His fist missed Mitchelli, hitting the wall and breaking through the sheetrock. His hand hurt, he slowly pulled it from the wall. Mitchelli was limping as he moved to the other side of the room; he held his left arm close to his body to protect it. Buckala held Freed and MacJames, Coarseni did nothing, and Moss stood nervously; thin and frail he was not about to confront the two giants.

  Hoss’s nose was bleeding. “That’s it you mother, you’re dead!” He ran towards Mitchelli. Throwing a chair at Hoss’s feet, Mitchelli watched as Hoss became tangled in the chair and fell to the floor in bewilderment.

  Mitchelli looked at Buckala and yelled, “Knife!” W
ithout hesitating, Buckala quickly pulled an eight-inch throwing knife from a shoulder holster under his shirt. Fortunately, Mitchelli plunked it out of the air just as Hoss was getting to his feet.

  MacJames screamed, “Peter, what are doing? Have you’ve gone mad!”

  Freed attempted to push Buckala out of the way, but the younger Buffalo cop was too strong, “Sal, they’ll kill each other! Did you hear me, they’ll kill each other!”

  Buckala held Freed in place and looked at MacJames. “Angela, calm down my money’s on your boyfriend. He hasn’t let us down yet.” Buckala began to laugh as he turned to watch the fight.

  “Ok, Special Agent,” Mitchelli growled. “You have a psycho with a knife ten feet from you, well within killing distance. What’s your next move?” Hoss looked horrified; his face turned white in an instance.

  “You’re a nut!” Hoss wiped blood from his nose. “Oh my God, I think you broke my nose.”

  “What should you do, a crazy man with a knife can travel twenty feet in one second, that means I could kill you at this distance in a half second.” Mitchelli held the knife just above his waist with his right hand, his left hand mirroring the motions of his right hand. Hoss’s back was to the door and Mitchelli moved in small quick steps as he yelled, “Special Agent Hoss, a crazy old man is going to kill you with a knife, draw your pistol!” Hoss could do nothing; he stood there frozen in disbelief. “Special Agent, skin your pistol now or die, my kids’ lives are at stake.” Mitchelli yelled, “Draw your pistol!”

  Buckala yelled from across the room, “Hoss, draw that pistol like you were trained, what the hell is wrong with you!” Dumbfounded, Hoss looked at Freed and moved to his right, in front of the interior window by the conference room door.

  Freed whispered loud enough for MacJames to hear, “Draw on Mitchelli, come on, pull it, what are you waiting for?”

  MacJames hit Freed in the arm. “Bob, what did you say?”

  “Freed’s not going to blow the whistle, this isn’t a stupid wrestling match!” Mitchelli threw the knife; it stuck perfectly in the door two feet to the left of Hoss’s head. “You’re dead and so are my kids.”

  Hoss moved to attack, Mitchelli quickly reacted and kicked Hoss just above the waist, catching him off balance. Hoss’s feet slipped on pieces of the splintered conference room table and his body hurled backwards through the window, shattering the laminated glass into a thousand pieces. He fell through the window onto the hallway floor, landing feet from the forest of cubicles. The crash of breaking glass and the thunder of Hoss hitting the floor frightened the cubicle occupants; they jumped out of their chairs to see the commotion. Mitchelli pulled the knife from the doorframe, and then walked slowly towards Hoss who was lying at the base of the cubicles. Mitchelli moved to attack. Moss reached for his pistol and began to draw his weapon. Buckala quickly put his hand over the top of Moss’s, driving the pistol firmly back into the holster.

  MacJames could see the fury in Mitchelli’s eyes. She pushed Buckala out of the way and grabbed his arm. “PETER, IT’S OVER!” she yelled. When Mitchelli didn’t stop, she pulled him as hard as she could. “IT’S OVER, DO YOU READ ME?”

  Mitchelli’s body tensed, his knife pointed at Hoss. He looked up at the frightened FBI personnel in the cubicles. Finish it; kill your enemy before they kill you. MacJames stood in front of him, her eyes locked on his. Startled by the emptiness she saw in his eyes, she could not relent, she had to stop him. She gently touched his hand, guiding the knife towards the floor. He blinked, once, twice, and could not look beyond her. He studied her eyes; her green eyes tamed him, bringing him back to reality.

  Mitchelli spoke slowly but loud enough so the office could hear him, “You had me, Tom…too bad you fell over that brief case. Ah, I hope Bob doesn’t make us pay for that window. Great job man, you had me cold.” Hoss lied flat on the floor surrounded by the Task Force members his mouth was wide open. Mitchelli extended his hand, encouraging Hoss to get on his feet. Mitchelli’s lip was bleeding and his face was beginning to swell. He turned towards MacJames shaking his head in disapproval of the agent’s abilities.

  MacJames scanned Mitchelli’s body, her concerns were valid, Mitchelli was not only bleeding from his lip; his white button-down shirt was soaked in blood at his shoulder.

  Freed looked at MacJames. “Can you control him?” he asked. “I’m going mad.” He grabbed Moss’s arm. “Pat, you were right, how could the staff resist this drama? He just kicked our Brahma bull through a conference room window.” He laughed, quietly shaking his head. “Shit—what the hell, it does lift your spirits watching two men beat the hell out of each other.”

  Coarseni giggled with excitement. “The knife throwing made it, otherwise it would have been just another brawl. Sal, don’t you think so? it was the knife.”

  Freed shook his head. “I’m naïve, what a fool I’ve been. I should have seen this coming. You were right, Dom. The Marauder didn’t like Hoss; someone get a first aid kit. Before Maraud…” Freed caught himself. “Dom, get the kit before Mitchelli bleeds to death, and sign us out another conference room. Garez will be here in twenty minutes.”

  “Tom, give me your pistol,” Mitchelli said quietly. Hoss slowly reached for his pistol, drew it from its holster and handed it to him. Hoss was too stunned to make the firearm safe. Mitchelli grabbed the pistol, and pointing it in a safe direction at the floor away from the cubicles, he removed the magazine in one motion. It only had four rounds, eight rounds short of full capacity. He checked the extractor, which was exposed just behind the ejection port. The extractor was flush with the slide, indicating that there was no round chambered. Buckala came up behind Mitchelli and they both examined the extractor together. Mitchelli racked the slide; as expected, no round ejected from the empty chamber. Treat all guns as if they are loaded, Mitchelli thought as he locked the slide open, inspecting the chamber to make sure the pistol was empty and safe. He then handed the pistol to Buckala.

  “Sal,” Mitchelli said. “Can you talk to him alone and point him in the right direction please?” Buckala grabbed Hoss’s arm and walked him away from the group. Mitchelli turned around; Freed, Moss, and MacJames stood looking at him in astonishment, while Coarseni had a grin on his face as big as Lake Erie.

  MacJames walked up to Mitchelli, “You’re bleeding, follow me into my office now!” Just then, Mitchelli’s phone rang once, twice, and he answered on the third ring.

  “Hello…yes, Molly I can talk.” He looked at Freed and winked. “No, you’re not bothering me, tell Secretary Stuart he can call anytime. Please thank the Secretary and tell him I’m doing very well, the team is taking good care of me.” Freed and MacJames could hear Molly over the phone talking away about how concerned Secretary Stuart was while Mitchelli kept expressing his gratitude. “I sound like I’m in pain? No, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Yes I’ll expect your call this evening, good bye.” Mitchelli motioned MacJames to start walking to her office.

  Freed and MacJames looked at each other in disbelief. Freed sarcastically exclaimed, “I still don’t know who Molly is!” MacJames gently grabbed Mitchelli’s arm and led him to her office.

  MacJames had a large office with an exterior wall of glass. She had a small round meeting table opposite her desk and a contemporary black couch against the wall. Her assistant Pam followed MacJames into her office.

  “Angela, I’ll hold your calls. What do you need?” Her eyes immediately were drawn to Mitchelli’s face, and then she noticed the blood on his shirt. Pam answered her own question before MacJames could think of any words, “I’ll track down a first aid kit, I’ll have the boys find some shirts left over from our golf outing last month and bring them in.” She left the room, shutting the door behind her.

  “Are you trying to scare the hell out of me?” MacJames walked over to Mitchelli. “Take your shirt off.” Mitchelli removed his shirt and she gasped loudly. Impressively, she quickly ripped his shirt in half, dropping one half on her desk and
folding the other half into a square. She held the cloth to Mitchelli’s left shoulder and placed his hand over the top of it. She then folded the other half of the shirt and said, “Unbuckle your pants.” She looked into Mitchelli’s eyes as he grinned. He loosened his belt and unbuttoned his pants while she placed the folded shirt inside his pants against his hip wound. She then tightened his belt. “Lay down on the couch, we need to talk.”

  Mitchelli lied down on the couch and looked around the large office. “Man Angela, you have great office. I think it’s better than Freed’s.” MacJames pulled the small coffee table close to the couch and sat on it.

  “Don’t you try to pull that Mitchelli bullshit change-up on me. Peter, what the hell were you doing in the conference room?”