by Dave Hazel
Mykal was struck odd by hearing the word ‘target’. Mykal knew the word ‘target’ referred to him. ‘I’m just a friggin target to these scumbags and that asshole President. They don’t have a friggin clue what this target is about to do,’ he snarled in thought while glaring at the cocky kid Jesse.
“I still say we should torture the little prick. For Dom,” Jesse argued quietly while he fingered his slight goatee. “I could think of all types of techniques to use just for shits and giggles,” he added with a laugh while he rubbed the start of growing hair around his mouth. He grew the goatee facial hair to help him look older.
Mykal wanted to start shooting them with his M-16 rifle, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to kill all of them. Jill or Percy as they call him and his assistant Ronny were still in the room. The M-16 would wake the people on all floors and that would ruin his overall plan to kill the nine and take Jill hostage. A thrilling excitement rushed through Mykal at the thought of going on a murderous rampage, but he wasn’t sure why. He never experienced such a blood lust before. It was stronger toward these men than any Soso he had ever faced. The Sosos wanted to kill him because that is who they are. These men wanted to kill him as an act of betrayal after he accomplished and did everything they wanted him to do. He was sure his raging emotions had something to do with the ring and its strange power, but he knew he was justified with the idea of getting revenge. He believed the ring had a strong hold on him, but realized he would have to worry about that at a later time. His life was on the line now!
‘It’s more of screw them before they screw me,’ he thought. He watched eight of the ten move to their positions they had occupied the first time he arrived. ‘I’m gonna take care of this cocky little jerk, Jesse, first.’ Mykal thought gleefully. He felt a powerful evil coursing through his entire being, but he didn’t care. ‘He wants to torture me for Dominick. Well he can kiss my ass.’
Mykal took his time following them to the stairwell. He didn’t know these men personally so he couldn’t understand the intense hatred he had for them. He understood why they wanted to kill him and he couldn’t permit that. Mykal realized his task at hand was to kill them first, out of self-preservation, but the intense hatred he felt was different than anything he ever experienced. There was pure evil in his hatred. ‘Why? I know I’m about to unleash a monster and I don’t know why.’
Mykal walked into the stairwell with them and they didn’t notice his presence. He found it odd that he focused on the red and black commercial carpet with black rubber trim that covered the 2nd floor landing. The stairs going up and down were cold steel painted an olive green that reminded him of military buildings he had been in before.
Mykal tried to understand his mind set and realized he wasn’t fearful. He was filled with wrath and excitement. ‘If everything turns out the way I want, I can’t wait to see the look on Jill’s face when Jill comes to the realization that me, little ol’ non-threatening Mykal Graves destroyed Jill’s mighty Untouchables, single handedly,’ he thought with confidence and growing rage. ‘They think I’m a pansy, or an easy target cuz they’re so powerful and so experienced but I’m gonna enjoy putting the Untouchables out of commission piece by piece.’ Mykal’s thoughts, like hateful words, dripped with deadly venom. ‘They got the friggin numbers, but I got the great equalizer,’ he thought and kissed the magic ring. ‘These scumbags planned to make my wife a widow and they planned to take my children’s daddy away,’ He pondered and added more hatred to his rage. ‘They screwed the wrong person.’
Stan and Jesse left the door propped open with the wooden door stop. Mykal slowly pulled the door stop and the door closed on its own weight. “Just leave it,” Stan said when Jesse got up from sitting on the stairs to the 3rd floor. “But like I was just saying, Jesse, I think you’ll do well and you’ll go places. Just don’t allow your emotions to get the best of you. Some of our assignments are tough to take, but you have to put all that aside, put it in perspective and just get the job done. We chose this profession, so we have to be professional.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Jesse said as he went back to sitting on the stairs. “I feel for Dom. If it was my close friend that had been killed, and if we had to take out the guy who did it, why not have fun doing it? Besides, Percy said this target can be a real prick. Why not make him pay?”
‘I’m a prick?’ Mykal mocked in thought.
Stan scoffed. “I’m not worried so much about that. You have to understand, sometimes the higher ups will say things or exaggerate things to make sure we stay motivated to get our jobs done,” he said while looking through the small glass window of the door into the hallway of the 2nd floor. “All the stuff I’ve seen and read on this Mykal Graves is that he’s a good guy. He’s a hero to those who were with him. But now, he just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and happens to be standing on the wrong side of the people who want him taken out of the way. I don’t have a personal beef with the guy, but he’s standing in the way of my pay check. You have to look at it from that point of view. It’s not personal. It’s business.”
Mykal wanted to respond to explain what his “wrong place at the wrong time” really was. He wanted to argue that he did the job they asked him to and point out that he’d gone through hell and back to get it done. His reward for doing what they wanted was to get a bullet to the brain, or if Jesse got his way a bad torture session. They wouldn’t listen anyway. They had a “job” to do. He slowly pulled out the 10 inch chef’s knife. It reminded him of the shower scene of the movie ‘Psycho’. He looked throughout the stairwell and saw no surveillance cameras.
“I don’t care about that,” Jesse replied. “He may be a good guy to some, but he’s obviously a bad guy to others. I just enjoy this part of the job,” Jesse remarked and winked.
“Have you ever killed anyone yet?” Stan, the older veteran, asked the young inexperienced kid.
Jesse squirmed on the stairs slightly. “Well, not a real person. Not yet,” he admitted. “I’ve watched the videos. I’ve practiced on dummies. I was with one other person who had, but I stayed in the other room. I didn’t really see anything.”
“Okay, not to burst your bubble Jesse, but you don’t know shit. If you’re human, your first kill will eat you up. And just be thankful, if you’re in on this kill, you’re with a number of pros who have done this many times before.”
Jesse didn’t say anything but looked down to the floor. Mykal saw it as time to act. Without a sound he swung his right hand as hard as he could and the 10 inch blade of the butcher knife drove into the left side of Stan’s neck. Mykal felt he hit bone. With an instantaneous twist he ripped the blade out of the front of the older man’s throat.
Blood flew in all directions. Stan made a slight gasping sound as he fell against the door. The look on his face was of complete shock. Stan looked at Jesse and Mykal was sure Stan wanted to ask the younger man what happened to him, but words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.
Jesse looked up when Stan slumped against the door. His face showed surprise and horror. He snapped his head around to look behind him and then back to Stan. “What the hell? Stan?” His voice quivered with disbelief.
Mykal flashed himself visible as he stood in front of the seated goatee. “You wanted to torture me scumbag?” He snarled while the bloodied blade was already in motion. The long wide blade slammed into Jesse’s Adam’s apple and ripped upward stopping at the chin before Jesse could react.
Jesse reached for the flesh ripping, agonizing, pain that started in his throat and shot through his entire being. A guttural growl escaped him as his eyes widened as far as possible. It all happened so fast. The pain was so sudden and overwhelming. He fell over and grabbed at his throat just like Stan did, and like Stan he couldn’t yell or say anything.
Jesse’s head and shoulders slumped against the metal grating of the hand rails. “I’m the one you wanted to have fun with punk,” Mykal hissed his taunting whisper.
Jesse groaned sounds that were pleading. Mykal stuck the chef knife into his belt and from the side of his leg Mykal pulled the handle of the aluminum baseball bat down from his web belt.
Mykal glanced over at Stan who had dropped to his knees against the door. The beige painted door had a streak of Stan’s blood from where he first slumped against the door down to his kneeling position. The door also showed blood splatter from where Mykal slashed outward from Stan’s throat. It looked like something from a Hollywood horror movie. Stan then fell backward with both his hands clamped tightly around his neck to keep his priceless liquids inside, but Stan lost his precious blood between his fingers and over his hands. The dead white expression told Mykal he was either dead or going to be quickly. He must have died when his hands loosened and dropped to his chest.
Mykal wound up with the bat and without saying anything slammed down on Jesse’s face. He was aiming for the goatee and he nailed it. With the whack that echoed slightly in the stairwell Mykal saw Jesse’s jaw get yanked out of socket. His jacked jaw caused his mouth to drool saliva, blood and teeth into the stream of blood from his throat. Mykal wound up and swung down on Jesse’s head. The aluminum bat caved the kid’s head in with a ‘thwack’ sound.
Mykal pulled back and without taking time to admire his handy work he slammed the aluminum club down again on the side of Jesse’s head. Mykal knew he caved Jesse’s skull in. He felt the vibration through his arms and knew that he killed the kid. He watched the lifeless body roll forward and tumbled down the two stairs he had been sitting on. “Torture this, punk,” Mykal whispered sarcastically.
Mykal repositioned the chef’s knife in his belt and placed the bat against the wall. He looked at the two dead men and was shocked at what he did, but had no remorse. “They ain’t Sosos,” he whispered and turned to the body of Stan. “But they might as well be Sosos. They’re out to kill me. It’s kill or be killed.”
Mykal knelt to inspect Stan’s body and the odor of blood or raw meat hit him hard. Stan’s face froze with his mouth and eyes wide open. It looked like bone poked through the open chasm of his throat. He tried not to look at Stan’s near paper white face when he pulled open Stan’s jacket to see the weapons being carried. Mykal was happily impressed.
Mykal pulled the Glock 17 out of the dead man’s waistband and was more fascinated to see a silencer attached to the end which added about another five inches to the length of the barrel. Mykal recognized the weapon right away since Boris had been fantasizing about owning one ever since they were reported in all the gun magazines. It had only been released earlier in the year and was made for the Austrian Army. Mykal knew the clip of the handgun held seventeen .40 caliber rounds. The weapon felt lighter in his hand than he thought it would.
He quickly stuffed the Glock in his waistband and pulled the jacket off Stan on one side so he could grab the portable radio and ear piece. While doing so he found two more seventeen round magazines in Stan’s back pocket which he took. After he clipped the radio to his belt and attached the ear piece, he grabbed his bat and stuck the handle up under his web belt.
Mykal looked at the body of Jesse sprawled out on the landing. He saw Jesse had a different weapon on him, but he didn’t take it. He didn’t want to weigh himself down with too many weapons. Two handguns, a rifle, a knife and baseball bat should be sufficient.
Armed with the Glock 17 and the attached silencer, he wouldn’t have to use his rifle or .357 magnum. Having a weapon with a silencer, he felt confident he could kill all of them before guests would be awakened by a gun battle.
He thought himself invisible and slowly opened the stairwell door enough to squeeze his body through. He walked down the hallway and moved slowly as he past the open door of the utility closet. Dominick and Randy were standing in there where they were posted earlier.
“…Yeah I agree, but William was my friend,” Dominick whispered in an angry tone. “We were like brothers. We go way back. I would just like ten minutes with that prick,” the Italian looking bully said as he bit on his lower lip. “I hope Percy changes his mind and lets me take care of him.”
“That won’t happen. You heard Percy,” Randy said in hushed words. “He likes Mykal. Mykal is considered to be a hero, so he wants him killed quickly and painlessly. I actually heard him tell Skipper and Pepe that he wants to make it look like an accident. So you know he isn’t going to allow you to be involved.”
“That bites, man,” Dominick replied with an angry pout while still biting his lower lip.
Mykal saw Dominick clench his fists and he was glad he wouldn’t have to fight the man. His fists were big and rock hard giving Mykal the impression he may have had some experience as a boxer. Mykal drooled over the idea of crushing Dominick’s head with the bat. He needed to take out the other stairwell first.
“Alright, everyone listen up,” Jill’s voice spoke into his left ear while he stepped backward away from the closet. “He should be arriving shortly. Remain hidden until I know I have the Package or unless he makes me bring you men out. Remember, he is armed. If he takes me hostage we will have to take him out only if we have the Package. If I am held hostage, the only ones I trust to take the kill shot are Skipper, Pepe, Stan and Jorge. Jesse, you do not have permission to take the kill shot. You haven’t proved yourself yet. Does everyone understand?”
Mykal heard everyone double clicked their radio buttons. No voices responded to Jill’s instructions. Mykal rushed to fumble with the radio to double click for Stan and Jesse and when he did the bat tapped the wall he stood beside.
“What was that?” Dominick whispered.
Mykal froze in place and winced as if he could have given himself away.
“What was what?” Randy answered and stuck his head out of the utility closet with Dominick.
“That noise.”
“Dom, I didn’t hear anything. I think you’re just a little worked up because you can’t take him out.”
“No, I heard something. I’m telling you I heard something.”
Mykal continued down the hallway of the second floor and stopped when he reached the open door of the stairwell.
“…I know what you mean. I just can’t wait for this night to be over,” the Skipper said while shaking his head. He sat on the stairs with his legs spread so he could look at the step his feet were planted on. “I’m getting too old for these all night operations. It doesn’t help that it is so blasted cold out here. Now you know why the Dakotas are sparsely populated. This weather actually makes my joints ache. When I think about it, I just can’t imagine how the Native American Indians survived out here when they were roaming the plains and living in teepees.”
Mykal looked at the heavy set man and knew why they called him the Skipper. He did in fact sound like Alan Hale Jr., the Skipper, of Gilligan’s Island. Pepe was on the bottom of the stairwell steps looking through the 1st floor hallway. Mykal got the impression that the Skipper could be one who never shuts up and that was probably why Pepe got away. Mykal heard Pepe walk farther down the stairwell to the basement floor to look through the door of the basement level.
“Who would ever want to live in such a God forsaken place?” The Skipper continued talking though Pepe went down to the basement floor.
“Oui, much too cold,” Pepe called up the stairs.
“And how the hell could kids ever go outside to play. I would never allow my four grandchildren to ever leave the house. It must be unbearable for parents to treat their children like prisoners because of the bitter cold weather. Do you understand what I mean Pepe?”
Mykal slyly loosened the door stop as he did at the other end of the hall.
“Oui! Oui! Oh, wha’ waz zat?” Pepe called back. His French accent was more evident.
“Nothing. Just the door shut. I’ll get it. But like I was saying, my heart is just not what it used to be. So now I’m always worried about having the big one, you know, a heart attack,” he chuckled. “I think I’m getting too--”
Myka
l stood on one step when the Skipper rose to open the door. He was afraid of the slight clinking sound his rifle made when he raised both arms over his head with the baseball bat in hand. Mykal slammed down with all his might on top of Skipper’s head. The crack was deafening. He hit Skipper harder than he hit Jesse. And he seemed to enjoy this attack more than when he hit Jesse. The Skipper seemed like a nice grandfatherly type of guy but his constant talking grated on Mykal’s nerves in an evil hateful way.
Mykal thought for sure the Skipper would be dead before he hit the floor, but the older man hit the floor with a thud and let out a groan. Skipper kicked and twitched on the 2nd floor landing and continued moaning though he seemed unconscious. Mykal wanted to whack him again but he knew Pepe would be alerted.
“Skippair, Skippair, dee you faw down?” Pepe called out as he flew up the stairs. “Ooh, no no, don’t move,” he said as he rushed to his side and knelt beside him. “I get help,” he added and tried to keep the large man from moving.
There was a pool of blood forming around Skipper’s head and Mykal saw Pepe reaching for the radio. With the large chef’s knife in his right hand he dropped the bat from his left. Before Pepe could key the button to the radio Mykal grabbed Pepe by the hair on the top of his head and jerked him backward. In an instant he thrust the large blade into Pepe’s throat and stabbed him several times repeatedly like a maniac. His hand was wet and sticky. He seemed to be getting a thrill by driving the massive blade into the French man’s throat repeatedly
Pepe tried to struggle and get away from the killing blows but the grip on his hair held him in place. Pepe reached up to grabbed the pain which forced the stabbing blade into his hands. Mykal was sure he could have severed Pepe’s head and though it would be great to make a point, he didn’t want to take the added time to cut through bone. When he allowed the lifeless form of Pepe to flop on the landing beside Skipper, the scene he created was just as bad as if he would have detached Pepe’s head from his shoulders.