by Nate Hawk
All four men’s heartbeats were racing. The most difficult challenge was controlling the build-up of adrenaline while remaining completely still under the leaves in order to remain hidden. Eventually the commandos were within the kill zone and Angelo fired two shots towards the first man. The 147 grain projectiles exited the barrel at over twelve hundred feet per second and seemed to immediately “thwap” into their target. The man fell backwards with a muffled yell and began squirming around on the floor of the woods. The second man’s rifle had been shouldered and he immediately began to pivot towards Angelo. Owen was watching carefully but remained hidden. His finger was on his own trigger where all slack had been removed. He didn’t want to fire unless he had no other option but he trusted that Angelo could get the job done.
When Angelo lined up the shot on the second target, he had to shift his body slightly, which in turn gave away his position. The second commando didn’t have a chance at a follow-up shot though. He was caught in an ambush. His buddy was dead. He knew he was next but he had made the decision a long time prior that given such circumstances, he would go down shooting. And he did. Fortunately for Angelo the bullets were unable to hit their targets before the man’s chest received a matching pair of two 147 grain projectiles. He fell backwards as his body shuddered and thrashed on the ground for a few moments. Angelo glanced towards Owen with a smile that said, what’s up now motherfucker?
Owen looked at the GPS tracker and noticed that neither of the other two cell phones had moved from their positions near the fire tower. He had a fleeting thought about whether the remaining two commandos had outplayed them by setting down their phones in anticipation of Owen and Angelo picking up the GPS tracker. His momentary thought was interrupted by gunfire that had been directed at Angelo’s position. The shots were fired from a position that had been silently taken on the rocky ridge above them.
Owen watched in horror as Angelo appeared to be hit several times across his posterior. Owen had flinched with surprise when the shooting had started and hoped that he had not given away his position. He glanced up on the ridge above where he could only see one man. The man appeared to be glancing towards Angelo’s position, perhaps for a follow-up shot. Then Owen saw one man giving hand signals to another; somewhere back from Owen’s line of sight below. Owen glanced towards Angelo and the fallen Hispanic man gave him a wink. It was a wink that clearly showed pain but it also showed his determination, which Owen took to be an encouraging sign. Owen took the shot that was available and sent two .40 S&W projectiles to his opponent’s center of mass. As the red-hot projectiles pierced the man’s body, he looked down at his wounds and simply fell head first off of the ridge. He crashed into the rugged terrain and forest debris below.
Without thinking, Owen sprinted towards his friend. The huge man shouldered the smaller Angelo, grabbed the MP5 and sprinted through the woods. The last remaining commando took several shots when he figured out what was happening. The first few shots missed as Owen was sure to avoid running in a straight line. Eventually the commando was able to anticipate Owen’s body movements and took one final shot. The shot was a bit high and would have likely killed Owen but the shouldered Angelo took the brunt of the trauma. The velocity of the round cracking against Angelo’s bones knocked both of them to the ground behind a clump of northern pines. Owen looked at his unconscious friend whose body seemed limp and lifeless. He quickly reshouldered the man hoping that he could be saved and continued on.
***
Longtime Vermont residents Robert and Louise Newport were on their way to Stratton Mountain for an afternoon hike and picnic. It was one of their most adored places to be as Robert had proposed marriage on the very same mountain nearly forty years prior. They were aging and they knew that one day in the near future they would no longer be capable of climbing the mountain. As they drove towards the base of the mountain they spied the iconic fire tower. They were holding hands and reminiscing over the good years that they had spent together. They were just sure it was going to be another beautiful day with a majestic view. They were driving their low mileage and beautifully maintained 1970 Ford Thunderbird into the parking lot when they noticed a newer car with bullet holes in it.
“My oh my,” Louise declared. “Are those gunshots in that vehicle?” she asked aghast as she pointed towards Owen and Angelo’s rental.
“It looks like it. I sure hope those inner city youths haven’t found our secret oasis,” Robert declared with concern.
That’s about the time when Owen made his appearance. It looked as if he was carrying some type of carcass on his shoulders and worse, he was now making his way towards the married couple with determination. The MP5 that dangled from a sling in front of the barbarian was almost as intimidating as his facial expression and sheer size. He walked in front of the Thunderbird and made a gesture for the two lovers to exit the vehicle. They did so without much fuss as Robert kept himself between Owen and Louise in a chivalrous manner. Owen opened the rear suicide-door and tossed Angelo’s bloody body in the back seat with a tourniquet visible on his arm. It wasn’t the wounded arm that was most concerning though. It was the body wounds that Owen was most worried about. Angelo had already lost tons of blood. He wished that he had a good way to stop the bleeding but the impromptu medical treatment would have to do until he could get to Framingham, MA. Then he would figure out how to eliminate the operators that would surely follow him wherever he went. He tossed all of the equipment that could tie them to the scene and sped off.
Robert and Louise Newport stood in consternation as they watched their beloved car disappear down the familiar gravel road.
***
Chapter 5
Kelly had been fishing and grilling out just off the coast for the previous three days. His time had been spent quietly and peacefully without the sounds of incoming mortars or rifle rounds. At times he hadn’t heard anything at all. It was just what he’d needed. There was an eclectic group of motorboats and sailboats present around and about the Keys. Some were coming. Some were going. Most were anchored whilst their captains enjoyed some variation of “Island Time”.
Kelly always tried to stay aware of his surroundings. In fact, his ability to do so had kept him alive, when he should have been dead, more than once. As he was nearing the channel he saw two men on a small fishing boat staring his way as they chatted and laughed amongst themselves. They gave him a certain vibe but he was having trouble placing what type it was. One man wore a bandana and the other had short hair. Both had on black leather vests with a collection of patches on them. Kelly’s instincts told him to keep on motoring by and he would have, had one of the men not given the universal signal of distress: he’d begun waving his arms. Kelly didn’t know everything about being a boat captain but he had enough etiquette to help other boaters. Kelly turned the wheel and approached the craft.
“Ahoy,” Kelly said almost as a joke. “You guys ok?”
“We’re fine but the damn boat won’t start. Been fishin’ out here a few hours and all we caught was bad luck. Seems we’re in need of a hand,” the man said with a slight hesitation.
“No problem,” Kelly assured. “Tell you what… This boat isn’t exactly maneuverable and I’m not skilled enough to haul you in.” There was some disappointment on the men’s faces as they looked at each other as if they were asking: “What do we do next?”
Kelly said, “But I’ll give you a lift into the marina and they’ll send another boat out to get yours. Just make sure you’re anchored, grab anything valuable and climb aboard.”
The men seemed to relax at Kelly’s proposal. They looked around at the contents of their boat: bait, fishing poles, fast-food trash and a mostly empty cooler of beer. One man popped the lid off of the cooler and they both retrieved two beers apiece, leaving only a small amount of quickly disappearing ice. Having all they seemed to need in the world, the men began climbing aboard Kelly’s boat.
“Arrrgh,” one man said doing his best interpretation
of a pirate. Kelly could immediately smell the booze on their breath as he began to wonder what he might have gotten himself into. “Welcome aboard,” was all he said to the man. The second man made an attempt to jump gracefully over the gunwale right before he (predictably) busted his ass on deck. The first man began roaring in laughter at his friend’s lack of finesse. The embarrassed fisherman scrambled around over the rocking deck of Kelly’s boat, giving chase to the precious cargo that had begun rolling around.
“Goddamn,” the man muttered after retrieving his beers.
“C’mon, Bones, you dipshit. Offer the captain one of them thur beers!”
Bones did as he was told as he attempted to regain his composure and some level of respect, which he was sure would be harder to earn now. He held up a beer as an offering. Kelly thought, why the hell not? as he accepted the men’s token payment for their rescue.
Then the other man said, “I’m Shifter,” as he gave a sorry ass salute with his beer bottle. “Pleasure,” he added.
“Pleasure’s all mine, gentlemen! Let’s get you men back to the marina,” Kelly suggested.
Kelly pointed the Silverton towards the tiny island of Key West. It was the last stop on the way to Cuba or the first stop back to the States depending on your direction. He successfully transversed the main channel and he was slowly nearing his slip.
As he was positioning the large craft himself he wore a couple of different nautical hats. He was damn sure the captain but it turned out that he was the deck hand too. There was no way he was going to have two drunken men securing his boat. Maneuvering the boat was a delicate flirt with the slip lest he get careless and do damage to either. He caressed the boat into position and rid himself of the proverbial captain’s hat as he dashed over to the mooring lines and attached them to the dock’s cleats. He secured the aft of the boat quickly but he was a bit slower than he preferred to be on the bow. Regardless, he finally bound the craft to the dock.
The guests were eager to get on with rescuing their boat. Shifter made a scene of digging around in his pockets for some form of payment but in genuine astonishment came up dry. Kelly insisted it was no big deal as he was headed towards the marina anyway. The men parted ways and Kelly found himself thankful that the experience was over. As the two men walked down the dock Kelly thought he heard Bones mention something about knuckling up to bar at the Hog’s Breath Saloon before they went back for their stalled boat. Kelly shook his head as he collected a few of his own belongings. Then he headed down the dock himself, on towards his vehicle.
About half way down the docks, the boats began to thin out and the line of sight to Kelly’s car finally cleared. What he saw angered him. His rear hatch window had been spray painted with graffiti. Damn vandals tagged my car, he thought to himself as he let out a growl. All the growling I do these days I’m starting to sound like a stray dog. I guess I’m starting to look like one too, he thought as he ran his hand over his face. He had a brief thought of the days that he had worked as a detective on the Gang Unit in Boston, a couple of years prior. It seemed like a previous lifetime to the man now. Boy he’d like to crack a couple of gangbangers’ asses for this one. When Kelly got closer he could see that it wasn’t a gang sign but rather a crudely painted fist flashing a middle finger. Kelly generally wasn’t one to make enemies so he could only think of two guys who would have done this; but there was a problem. Or rather two problems. One of the bikers couldn’t see and the other one couldn’t walk. They must have friends, he figured.
Kelly drove his car over to the marina shop where he purchased a razor blade. He used their hose to spray on water to act as a lubricant as he quickly began scratching at the paint in an effort to remove the marking from his window. As he was finishing up he heard the high-pitched rev of several sport bikes as they pulled in directly behind him. One man had just come out of a wheelie and a second man performed a trick stop that raised the back of his bike up into the air. Kelly didn’t bother to turn around as he had a full view of the muscle bound riders in the reflection of his recently cleaned window. He counted four bikes and five riders. He did a quick calculation based on his previous IQ estimation a few days prior. He determined that the culmination of their brainpower must be just north of 212 IQ points. Nothing Kelly couldn’t handle.
“Yo, this the infectious full-gorged haggard that broke Franco’s leg?” one man asked. As Kelly looked at the man he could see white paint on the tip of his index finger.
“He don’t look like much to me!” the other said.
“He’s just a wino castaway,” a third man said. “You need to get to the gym boy!”
Kelly had to subvert a laugh at the guy’s comment with the painted finger. He was obviously the graffiti artist but what the hell had the man just said? These guys needed to go back to insult school if they wanted to scare away more than just the ladies. Kelly turned around and settled his eyes on the most aggressive one. He knew it best to start there and work his down.
Kelly said, “You guys run out of old cripples to push out of wheel chairs? No purses to snatch?”
The biggest guy said, “You better watch who your talking to.”
Kelly said, “Who’s that?”
“The Crusher… and I eat turds like you for breakfast!”
Kelly looked at the man with dramatic disbelief written on his face. Then he said, “You oughta think about eating something healthier for breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day, after all.”
Crusher couldn’t think of a pithy comeback so he came at Kelly with a haymaker punch. Kelly was disappointed the man didn’t have something better in store but with three other guys preparing to jump in Kelly didn’t give the muscle bound freak a second attempt. He stepped to the side gracefully, sliding around to the Crusher’s back. Kelly brought one arm up under the man’s briefly extended arm and pulled him into a headlock, forcefully applying pressure to the man’s carotid artery. His face flushed and his eyes began rolling up but not before the other three, seeing their chance, began moving in. Kelly held the first man as he continued losing consciousness while he fought the others. Kelly’s boot came up hard towards the next man and landed a kick right in his crotch. By then the first man had quit struggling and had dropped into a heap on the ground.
The odds had gone from four on one, to very quickly, two on one. Kelly hadn’t broken a sweat and he certainly wasn’t out of breath. He looked cool and calm and he was ready for more. He still had a lot of residual internal anger to burn off from other challenges that life had thrown at him over the years. The big guy with the white finger and the worst insults ran at Kelly and tried to tackle him. Kelly stepped aside with a taunting chuckle and tripped the man who then carelessly plunged head-first into a propane tank exchange station. He was out cold. Kelly walked with determination in the direction of the fourth man. He knew the guy had lost his nerve to fight after seeing his buddies fall and besides, it wasn’t the man that Kelly wanted. There was a woman leaning against the first bike in the line of four just taking the fight in. The smile on her face had decreased little by little as one man after the other had fallen. She tensed up as Kelly approached.
“Ma’am,” he said as he walked up to her. “I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.”
She immediately complied to his request but she did so with attitude of a Miami call-girl. “You ain’t shit asshole! Whatta you gonna do, hit a woman?”
“Why, you seen one around somewhere?” he asked her. “All I’ve seen is a bunch of trash with pitiful insults and a humorous lack of fighting skills.”
“They’re gonna kill you,” she said. “You broke Franco’s leg. Ohhhh, they gonna kill you dead for that!” she promised. “D-E-A-D,” she spelled out for Kelly.
“We’ll see about that,” he said without seeming convinced. “I’d watch out if I were you.” Kelly raised his right foot up and struck the first bike. One by one the expensive machines fell into each other and crashed to the ground like carefully pl
aced dominos. Kelly just laughed and thought about his freshly cleaned window as he drove off in search of something to eat.
***
Chapter 6
Kelly realized that he had kicked the proverbial hornets’ nest. In his mind, he reviewed the first altercation with the two bikers that had harassed the handicapped man. Key West is a laid back town and people generally have better manners. Kelly didn’t feel that he had been left much of a choice when it came to those two. Then at the marina store… What was he supposed to have done? Four more bikers had come after him looking for blood. They had certainly found it: but it had unexpectedly been their own, not Kelly’s.
Kelly found himself with a big problem though: whoever this group was, they knew where he was living. Since his car had been vandalized he had decided to pay to park it near a lot on Greene and Simonton Streets. The place had been an old lumberyard and Kelly had been able to park in one of the protective lumber stalls. It had a roof over it and more importantly, couldn’t be seen from the street. At least his vehicle wouldn’t be vandalized until he could come up with a real solution to his problems.