Kevin was inclined to believe this wasn’t the man at all, except that it was. A large plate was set down in front of the man. It held enough food for two, possibly three people. Kevin thought he would be here a while.
The man finished everything on his plate, or platter as Kevin would have described it. The time was growing near.
Kevin paid his bill and walked outside. The man presented himself a few minutes later. How odd, he thought, to be so unprepared.
The lack of vigilance reminded Kevin of something Will had said about humanity as a whole.
It was time. The man was alone. He was walking to a parking lot where people come and people go without ever really noticing anything except the size of their own asses.
Christ, was this really about to take place? Did he have the sack to do this shit for real? The people he answered to had summed it up in this way: “Marines fight wars Kevin, yours is just a little more personal.” Personal my ass, he thought, it was downright private.
Kevin knew he shouldn’t think this way but he did so anyway. Looking at him, he just couldn’t see it. What in the world could this soft-in-the-middle man have done that was so bad that the government would want him dead?
Kevin pushed the thoughts aside and started his approach. The man was working a key into the driver’s side door of a silver Volvo. Kevin was but a few footfalls away when the man turned around.
“Can I help you young man?”
Kevin was clothed like any other guy his age. His hair was shaggy by Marine Corps standard, his jeans were faded, and his Ocean Pacific t-shirt fit the community. He looked like a surf kid lost in the parking lot. It was what he was supposed to look like.
“Are you lost?” the man spoke very matter of factly, almost rudely. It was off-putting given his little Debbie snack cake exterior.
“I-----,” Kevin was at a loss; he stood there looking at the man’s mouth move.
“Son, are you okay? Of course you’re not, just like every other little dope smoking terd, aren‘t you?”
Kevin muttered mostly to himself, “Okay.”
The man laughed in the way one does when they have reached a level of annoyance where nothing else fits.
He began to scream at Kevin to get the fuck out of his face when he realized something bad was about to happen.
Kevin would later blame his face for the man’s panicked reaction. He knew what the man had seen: blank, perfect, absence of anything - an emotion free, thousand yard stare into death - his own death coming in this case.
The man tried to scream, “Hel---!”
Kevin’s right hand shot out in a straight, uninterrupted line. Its path was unencumbered right up until the point where the man’s throat got in the way. It was instinct now, as natural to him as breathing, just as Will had taught it to be; the man fell at Kevin’s feet clutching his ruptured windpipe. Kevin had done it. It was real now. This man beneath him would not stand up and dust himself off. This man would never get up again. Kevin had done what he had been trained to do, and in doing so, had drawn the line where there would be, could be no return.
Kevin looked down at the slumped figure. He had hurt him badly. The man was struggling for each breath, and the shock of what had transpired was visible in his eyes. Like wounded prey, his instincts were coming into play now as well. He wasn’t a fighter, not in the sense that Kevin was. He was trying to crawl underneath his car. Kevin took a quick glance all around. Seeing no one in the immediate area, he fell atop the man and pulled him backward. It was so fast then. He put his right knee in the man’s spine just under the spot where the top of the back meets the neck; he placed both hands around the struggling man’s forehead and pulled back sharply. It was a lesson from so long ago, and it worked flawlessly.
Kevin could have checked for vitals, he supposed, but what was the point. Normal men, men who live outside of war, don’t survive that type of brutality.
Kevin had killed his first man.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Years pass without measure.
Kevin was alone. Kevin was nearly always alone.
It was late, or early, depending upon your preference.
Kevin rubbed a hand over his face. His skin felt dry, slack. He hadn’t slept in some time. His stomach hurt as it usually did. He sucked in, breathed out, the knot would not disappear. Kevin popped another antacid tablet in his mouth and chewed. His tongue found the particles embedded in his back teeth.
He had been doing the job four years now. Everywhere possible, anywhere they wanted him to go.
He appeared young; his heart knew better.
Killing had taken its toll. His grandfather had said it straight so many years ago, killing men was a horrible thing. The pain in his stomach grew in size. What began as a small hard knot, developed into a soured parasitic mass. Kevin belched to relieve the ache. He sat still, thought of water, in all forms. His head was in the game, loosely divided between the task at hand and the way water flows along the path of least resistance. Kevin had never lost in this arena. In part, from the performance of repetitious movement which fastened the idea of trying to fly, to just flying as a metaphor for learning, practicing, and perfecting the ability to deprive another human being of his life.
Kevin could pull a trigger, deploy a blade, break a neck, and stop a heartbeat the way grass can grow with abundant sunshine and water. He was as good at it as a single human being ever could be. It came with a price tag. Kevin paid early and paid often. He was sure he had an ulcer, and his dreams were a littered landscape of those who had passed by his hand.
Still, he didn’t think he was an asshole.
Kevin was alone. It was okay though.
Who else would bare this burden?
God, he hoped. That was a hoot. Kevin had broken commandments, would break another fairly soon. It didn’t matter. He dropped from his seated position to a more traditional one.
Eyes closed, Kevin spoke. His words were a whisper even to himself. Perhaps God would hear his prayer later this way. If he were paying attention now, Kevin knew he would be screwed.
The door next to his opened and closed.
It was a decent hotel. Still he could hear their voices.
The man he was sent to kill and also his friend for the evening. Kevin had loaded the silenced Glock sometime ago. Habit taught him to conduct a press check to make sure a round had chambered. It had.
Kevin holstered the weapon, put on a light jacket and walked to the door. He stood there listening. The man’s bodyguard was sure to be standing his post just outside the door. Kevin breathed, let it go, and opened the door.
The man was formidable and bored. Kevin dealt with both issues. The door splintered. Kevin and the bodyguard spilled into the room. The subject listed in the assignment was more or less surprised. Kevin exercised the prejudice ordered by his government. His predilection for silenced weapons forged a close quiet relationship between he and the three men.
Kevin didn’t puke until he was in a new hotel room forty minutes away. It found him this way. Images of death insulting living flesh. Kevin’s justification was not his own, he had none. It was somebody else’s business lent to his finely tuned hands.
Would he tell God that? His head rested upon his hand which rested upon the toilet seat. The bowl was full; he flushed. He stood, moved to the mirror and stared. His eyes were bloodshot. Why not, the male vomiting pattern was not unlike a car crash. Kevin rinsed his mouth, his nose, his face. His stomach empty, he walked to the room’s sofa and lay down. He belched, tasted bile, swallowed and gagged. He realized after several seconds he was shaking. His head was hot, his core rotted lava, but still he shook. Breathe---- Breathe.
The spasms subsided. Kevin didn’t drink, didn’t take drugs, he puked. His stomach betrayed him, his soul agreed.
It was different in the beginning. Kevin used to cry. He wasn’t sure if he hated himself or not.
Kevin had been trained to do things, so he did things.
The
re was no logic for him to apply. An application of well-respected fact would have been nice. It was the not knowing that pulled the already loosened ends. Every time he destroyed existence he felt further from God’s intended beauty.
He knew that people did horrible things.
He himself did horrible things.
It stood to reason some of them should be punished. Was there a bell curve for what was intended and what was meant? Kevin already knew the answer.
Kevin was fooling himself if he believed he was acting as the hand of God. Kevin was the hand of other men, men unwilling, or incapable of the monstrous acts he portrayed.
Kevin had devised a procedure for the hours following a completed assignment. A couple had already been performed. Kevin kneeled beside the sofa and prayed.
“Forgive me, for I know not what I do. I have sinned, and for those sins I beg your forgiveness. I am an instrument put into service to protect the many from the few. I pray for the men’s souls I took. I wish them a place in your kingdom. Allow me the peace I cannot find myself, in your name, amen.”
Kevin’s words and Kevin’s thoughts often deviated course as one instinctively knew and accepted the truth, while the other held firm to false hope.
Kevin moved to the bed after showering.
Kevin was alone.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kevin had been the property of the United States government for six years. He hadn’t worn a uniform for five and a half of that. His days revolved around training, eating, reading, and sleeping. Sleep was invariably the hardest part.
He was a part of society, he supposed. He didn’t have any friends, but he shopped where others shopped, ate where others ate, and dreamed of a better life, one that didn’t involve killing other human beings.
He lived modestly. The dwellings to which he was assigned were moderate in all facets. It didn’t matter. His needs were taken care of; his desire for more was never an issue. The only place he considered home was the one he had left behind. The memory of his grandfather always evoked so many emotions. He was a tough man, a loving and respectable man. He was everything Kevin wished he could have been.
Kevin carried the sins of his life right next to him wherever he went. When his grandfather had passed, he had made a decision in haste, a young man’s curse. Now he paid for that decision every day.
His grandfather had always been there for him. Kevin still spoke to his ghost, mostly when the lights went out, always when he was alone. Nights were the worst. The darkness didn’t scare Kevin. It was what it represented.
He often times carried out assignments at night. He was sure others did as well. Images appeared in shadowed places. Kevin never stayed in any one place for too long. He never became familiar with the shadows of a darkened house or apartment. Paranoia, Hyper-vigilance, whatever label you assigned it, it all read the same. Kevin slept like a field mouse amidst a thousand hungry owls.
Though the residences changed, his habits followed him to each place. Locked windows and doors, some form of fortification at any man door entrance, a handgun by the bed, one in the bathroom, a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun, with extended tube, by the bedroom door jam, and absolutely no lights on inside the dwelling at night. If someone were coming for him they would have to bring their own light.
He would read to fall asleep. His natural sleep pattern, the one developed by years of evolution, was destroyed. He counted on Socrates, Plato, sometimes Frost and Kipling to lessen his agitation, calm his mind to the point at least a couple of hours of sleep would somehow find their way to him. He took what he could get.
Kevin was eating breakfast when the page came. He set aside his oatmeal and replied. An hour later he was driving to an airport. Two hours after that he was in the air. His mind carried on conversations even he didn’t care about. It was like this: fly to location, obtain weapons, carry out contract, pretend you didn’t kill people for a living. Kevin was met by a friendly and given a packet.
He took a taxi to a hotel district, was dropped off somewhere in the middle, then walked to the assigned location.
Upon check-in he opened the packet, scanned the contents, and made preparations.
Kevin looked at the man’s photograph.
That’s all he ever really knew about any of them, besides what type of schedule they kept. Then the mission would be carried out, and sometimes the subject was prominent enough they would make the top headline, and a finely dressed news anchor would detail the man’s past, his accomplishments, his business, whatever. Questions would lead to more questions that Kevin never seemed to have the answers for. He looked at the photograph for a long time. He seemed nice enough. Early fifties, trim, full head of hair, smiling as if the world smiled back.
Kevin laid the photograph aside and checked the weapon. He dismantled it, put it back together and pressed the trigger. He racked the slide several more times ensuring the internal hammer fell with each trigger press. Next he checked the schedule. Everything the man did on a weekly basis, day by day. It’s never a smart thing, keeping a consistent schedule, especially when you pissed people off. How many of them knew, he wondered? What deemed you unfit to live anymore? Did anyone know the answer to that riddle?
Kevin wanted it over quickly. Tomorrow brought Tuesday. The man jogged the same trail in Dover Park every Tuesday. Kevin checked the map. Dover Park was only three miles from where he was now.
Kevin went over the possible outcomes while showering. He would try the park, do it there, and then get the hell out. He was anxious, he was always anxious. His stomach played its familiar tune.
Dover Park at 6 AM was not a popular place. Kevin understood this behavior. The guy ran to clear his head. The lack of people all around made it that much clearer.
Kevin was dressed in running attire; a smallish fixed blade dagger was concealed under a loose fitting t-shirt. Kevin decided against the firearm for this setting.
Kevin fell in behind the man and kept pace.
Kevin was an exceptional runner thanks to Will; it was part of his daily training. The man in front of him took long, loose strides. He was built like a distance runner, probably ate right too. The man pulled up, moved to the side of the trail, and placed two fingers on his throat. Kevin scanned everywhere quickly, knowing this was his chance. He was still checking his pulse when Kevin jogged up to him.
“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have the time?” Kevin offered a look of self-deprecation at not having his own watch.
The man smiled and looked to his wrist.
Kevin moved as the man’s eyes left his face. He punched him once in the throat, and again in the solarplexis. The stranger involuntarily lurched forward from the trauma, and was immediately knocked backward off of the trail with a front thrust kick. The man was still fighting for usable air when Kevin moved in to get behind him. In disbelief, Kevin watched as the man shuffled backward and started running again, though this time from his hands and knees. Kevin sprinted toward his prey, quickly scanning for other joggers before leaping atop the man’s back. His luck held true, they remained the sole occupants in this area of the park.
Kevin felt the man’s body give underneath him as they crashed to the hard-packed dirt. He was strong, and Kevin was sure the age old response of fight or flight assisted in the surge of adrenaline which was now coursing through the man’s veins. Kevin delivered a sharp punch to the base of the man’s neck, and felt him collapse under the weight of the blow.
Kevin had worn a medium sized towel around his neck for the run; he looped it around the subject’s neck now.
With strength most have never known, Kevin found leverage and pulled backward with all he had. In a second, both he and his target were in the deepest brush which followed the outer fringe of the jogging trail. The man was still fighting. He held Kevin’s arm, which had replaced the towel, willing it away from him.
The man begged with what was left of his ragged voice. He spoke of his children, told Kevin he didn’t
have to do this, choked out something about paying him. Kevin held steady. Well, the thing capable of this shit did, Kevin’s mind was someplace else. It took possibly thirty seconds to end the stranger’s life. Kevin had to be sure, and so he did what Will had taught him to do so long ago in that facility built for this purpose alone. Kevin broke the man’s neck, and remained only long enough to ensure there could be no reviving him. After a couple of deep breaths to regain composure, Kevin looked long down both sides of the trail, and then ran. Kevin ran all the way back to the hotel.
Kevin changed, showered, left.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kevin felt most at home in America’s great Midwest, the heartland. Born and raised in California, the Midwest represented the world at an earlier time in history. People said hello to their neighbors, most always used ma’am and sir in a sentence, and rarely worried about such trivial matters as locking their doors. The air was different, and the feeling of ease around him sufficient enough to calm what was left of his tortured soul. He had traveled through every state in the union, but preferred Indiana.
Not far from the capital city of Indianapolis were a litter of smallish, Norman Rockwell style country towns where Kevin felt right at home. Terre Haute was the safest for him, as it was home to Indiana State University and a myriad of college kids from places far and wide.
Kevin, now twenty-seven years old, fit right in. He had never really looked his age, and still got carded whenever he ordered a beer. Not that he did that all that often.
Kevin had secured a residence on 7th street. A middle class neighborhood near the campus where many that worked or attended there resided. Kevin waved to his neighbors but didn’t know any of them personally. When he traveled into the heart of the city he wore school logo t-shirts and often carried some form of backpack. Some would be surprised if they got a glimpse of the contents of that backpack, others not. As mentioned, Indiana, the Midwest in general, held different standards for what constituted an emergency.
OBLIGATION Page 16