by Tony Milano
John tried to smile, but it just did not happen. John came to New York to get away from his memories. But now he was right back where he started, Chasing down Chung and his thugs. Tommy died in John's arms just like his wife and little girl did. How could John let that go, how do you get over something like that? You don't. You fight through it and you get revenge. That is what John wanted right now, revenge.
John started to take a drink of the beer when two guys stood up from a table in the back and walked over to John. "Hey Pretty boy." Are you kidding me? John thought to himself. "Look who's talking" he said. The bartender moved away from them, he knew what was coming next, and so did John. "Oh, he's a tough guy" the other thug said.
John quickly sized up the two thugs behind him. He could easily see them in the huge mirror at the bar. John looked down at his glass and started to laugh. John elbowed the pretty boy thug in the gut, he quickly fell to the ground. The second thug grabbed John, but John easily broke free and slammed his face into the bar and then into the table and chairs behind him. Pretty boy stood up and lunged for John, but he was stopped cold by a kick to the groin and then a punch to face, dropping him to the ground. With both men on the ground John took a drink of his beer and noticed a man in the back of the bar looking at him. He looked out of place, not the normal dirtbag you'd see in a dive like this. He was wearing a white suit with a black tie, long black hair and a stupid grin on his face. John thought to himself 'Who the fuck dresses like that.' The man raised his glass to John and took a drink. John looked at the bartender and pulled some cash out of his pocket and left it on the bar. "For the mess." The bartender just smiled, picked up the cash and said "See you next time John."
CHAPTER TWO
The Offer
Later that night, a neon sign was blinking through the shaded window of the dark front room of John's small apartment. John was passed out on his couch with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the coffee table next to a picture of John's wife Victoria and his daughter Lucy along with a newspaper clipping that read 'Two Die in Gangland Shooting.'
John started to cough, waking him from his sleep. He stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed a milk carton from the refrigerator. He took a big drink from the carton and looked at a child's drawing on the refrigerator. It was one of the last things Lucy had given John before she was killed. The drawing was of him, Lucy and Victoria drawn in crayon at the park. John's heart was heavy with guilt and anger. He should have been there, he could have stopped it. It was because of him that they are not alive. He could have backed off, if he had backed off they would not have been killed.
He walked back to the couch and he heard a familiar sound coming from the front door. It sounded like someone picking the lock. He quickly hid behind it and waited for it to open. All John could see was a man's hand with a chrome plated gun in his hand. With one sweeping move John snapped the man's arm and tossed him onto the coffee table shattering it into pieces. It was the pretty boy thug from the bar. John thought to himself 'What the Hell is he doing here?' He went to grab him but from behind a second man grabbed and slammed him into a wall, again and again face first into the wall till John's head was bleeding and blood dripped into his eyes. Then he put John in a choke hold. John struggled but could not break free. This man was bigger and solid, with a grip like a vice. John fell to his knees, it was getting hard to breathe, his vision was fading. Pretty boy stood up and straightened his clothes then he grabbed a lamp off of the end table. "Lights out Johnny boy" he said as he slammed the lamp into Johns face.
A few moments had gone by when John woke up in the back of an ambulance laying on a gurney as two paramedics were stitching up the gash on his head. John's no fool, he knew it was a kidnapping and started to fight back. He pushed one paramedic off of him and into the wall of the ambulance as the other jumped on top of him trying to restrain his arms. "Juice him, Dammit!" The other paramedic scrambled through a drawer and pulled out a very big needle, it looked like the kind of needle you would use on a horse. "Hurry up!" The paramedic slammed the needle into John's leg, but not before he got in one last punch breaking the nose of his wrestling partner. The drug was fast acting and within seconds John was out cold.
When John opened his eyes he was strapped to a metal chair in a white room with one big mirrored window in front of him. The room was so bright that it hurt just to open his eyes. John's headache was massive and he knew if he moved he would just make it worse. He was still groggy from the drugs, but he was able to focus on the window. He could just barely make out a shape in front of him, it was Michael, a tall, well built, calm-looking man in a suit. Aside from the long hair he had that military look about him. The kind of look that makes you think he could handle himself just fine, whether he was in a bar fight in Detroit or in a gun fight on the mean streets of some shit hole on the other side of the world. John could see that he was different from the rejects Michael had sent to fetch him. John had seen Michael's type many times when he was in the Army and even more so when he went Top Secret. He could spot the swagger and fit of a military man easily. Michael had a smile on his face but he was a killer for sure. Like a Pit Bull that plays with children, everything seems fine until a switch is flipped inside his head and then there is nothing but bloody bodies left on the ground.
John was able to muster the strength for some words. "I know you, don't I?" John was trying to get a feel for what was going on. "That is quite possible John, My name is Michael." John knew exactly who Michael was. With a tone of sarcasm he said "You were at the bar. Hiding in the back with the two morons that jumped me." John looked at the leather straps holding his hands in place. "Let me guess, these are for my protection right?" Michael smiled at John. "You're very observant John, I always liked that about you. In fact That is one of the reasons you were chosen."
The idea of being chosen by anyone for anything did not sit well with John. On one of his Black Ops missions he was chosen by some desk jockey to blow up a roadway that was full of villagers trying to hop borders in Africa. There was not a terrorist threat or some malicious activity, those people were just trying to get out of the shitty life's they had been handed. But an order is an order. "Chosen? What the hell are you talking about? What is this place?" John hated not being in control. "I want answers." Michael was getting tired of this mindless banter. "Well, since you're so eager to know everything I guess it is time for the facts." Michael was pacing around the room. "Here it is John, you are dead. Life as you knew it is over. You don't exist anymore. After the death of your family you spun into a massive hole of depression, started drinking, taking risks and after having your partner die in your arms, you lost it and you killed yourself. You drowned when you drove your car off of a bridge in the middle of the night. It's a sad tale of a cop that had everything, a beautiful wife, a great kid, a promising career and then he suddenly lost it all." It was obvious that Michael was enjoying this story. "You need to face it John, the life you knew is over."
The disbelief on John's face said it all. He was stunned, the more he looked at Michael, the more his shock turned to anger. He glared at Michael. "Your crazy" he said calmly. He was not sure what to think about what he had just heard. Did this guy have the resources to make John disappear? Could this all be true? Michael stood behind John while he talked. "It's okay John there is something good that can come from all this, now is your chance to make a change and do something meaningful with your new life."
Michael smiled at John while he spoke, he was passionate and seemed to enjoy what he was saying. But John's rebellious spirit took over and he yelled at Michael. "You're fucking nuts!" Michael's expression changed to anger, his knuckles cracked as he hit John across the face knocking him on to the floor. "Never interrupt me." Michael walked out of the room leaving John where he fell. John was still feeling the effects of the drugs he was given and now he was laying on the floor strapped to a metal chair with his lip bleeding. He was at the mercy of a lunatic. It was easier to give in to the drugs
than to think about what just happened.
The next day, John woke up in what looked like a jail cell, his clothes had been changed to an ugly orange jump suit it looked like something a convict would be wearing in prison. His brain was running wild. How could any of this be true? And if it was true then what did Michael want from him, he had nothing left to give. John was pacing around the cell trying to digest what Michael had told him. A green light in his room lit up, then his cell door unlocked and opened, it was Michael. "Come with me John." He did not say a word, after all what could he say. Nothing would change what was happening to him. Michael walked down the long narrow hallway that had the same decorating perks of the white room John was in the night before. White floors, white walls and bright lights. John slowly followed Michael into a room at the end of the hall. It was the same white interrogation room with the big mirror. Michael pointed to the metal chair in the center of the room. "Sit down." John shook his head but he still sat in it.
"Here is the deal John, I represent a section of the government that is sanctioned with the liberation of hostile threats against this government and its interest." John snickered. "You mean you kill people." Michael turned his back to John and looked at his reflection in the mirrored window. He straightened his tie and said "Yes, we kill people, people who need to be killed." John stood up in protest. "You've got the wrong guy, I'm not a killer." Michael continued to look at his reflection and never at John. "Yes, you are, you just need to embrace it." John was startled by Michael's comment and he sat back down in the chair. He could not help but think about all the innocent people that he had killed while he was in the military. He was always told that there was a greater good that had to come first, that sometimes bad things had to be done for the right reasons.
When John was running Black Ops there was a lot of rumors about other secret operations that the government ran, off of the books. The kind of secret operations that nobody in DC would ever talk about because it would destroy political careers and rip at the heart of american pride. John remembered one night in Iraq when he was playing a poker game with his merry band of shooters and looters along with two CIA agents that loved to drink whiskey and brag about things that nobody outside of that room should ever know. The more they drank, the more they talked.
Before that night John had only heard a whisper of a myth. A myth called Archangel. A covert section in the government that recruited people to assassinate targets in the USA and in other countries, if the task called for it. These targets called Clients by Archangel had done some of the most gut wrenching and evil crimes that the planet had ever seen. Mass murders, Genocides and many other unimaginable crimes against humanity. John could not hold back any longer. "Are we talking about Archangel?"
Michael turned to face John. He ignored the question completely. "I need you to work with me, I have some tasks that I need to complete and I need you. You have the background and expertise that I require and I'm short on time. John, there are only two ways this conversation can end. Are you in?"
At times, Michael seemed more like a salesman instead of a government assassin. John gave a long pause before asking "What's in it for me if I help you?" Michael smiled with a smile only the devil could appreciate. "I'll give you the man responsible for all your pain. I'll give you Chenglei Chung." Michael could see the rage in John's eyes, that was the push John needed, he had him. "I'm in." There was not any hesitation that time, John was eager to do anything to avenge his wife and daughter and he was more than willing to get his hands bloody in the process. Michael walked towards the door. "That is good news. I knew I could count on you. Besides John it's not like you had a choice anyway."
CHAPTER THREE
The Park
A few weeks had gone by and John and Michael were walking through Central Park. The last few weeks had been an eye opening experience for John as Michael had been explaining to John what was expected of him. He had to teach John the way of things. John had many skills and talents but he had to embrace that killer instinct that was hiding deep inside. Michael knew it was there, he could see it in his eyes and after today John would know it as well. Michael stopped and bought some popcorn from a vendor. "Your client is over there." John looked at an old man sitting on a park bench feeding popcorn to the pigeons. "That old man, what threat could he be to anyone?" Michael grabbed a handful of popcorn. "He looks dangerous John. Why don't you go ask him? Call me when it's done." Michael smiled at John and walked away.
John walked over to the park bench and sat down next to the old man. He did not say anything at first, after all what do you say to someone that you are going to kill? After a minute the man started to talk to John. "I see you were in the military" The old man pointed to John's tattoo on his arm. "Yes, I put in some time." The old man smiled at him and held out his hand. "My name is Erick." John shook his hand. "It is nice to meet you Erick, I'm John," Erick smiled and continued to feed the birds. He was an older, balding man, wearing glasses. He reminded John of his grandfather, he even dressed like him, from his tan pants to his pocket protector holding two pens in it. 'Just like grandpa' John thought to himself. John gave his best shot at some small talk. "I bet you saw some action in your time?" John's comment was half a question and half a statement. Erick looked at him "I was in number two. I saw more action than most." There was the sound of pride in Erick's tone. Erick pulled his sleeve up to show a Nazi Swastika. "Somethings are what they are and things can't be changed," Erick told John. A minute of silence went by. "Let me tell you a story John," he said.
John kept a cold poker face as Erick went on to tell several stories about his time working at a Nazi Concentration Camp. There was a kind of sparkle in his eye as he spoke with pride about the hundreds of people he ordered to be killed. "The smell of flesh, burning flesh could be smelled for miles away from the camp," Erick said as he giggled with delight. "I remember this one time I went into a small town just down the road from the camp. They had this Inn that had the most beautiful girl working there. Her name was Anna and my thoughts of her would wander like clouds on a windy day," Erick remembered. "Did you marry her?" John asked hoping to change the subject. "No, it was not meant to be after all she was not pure. One day I found out she had been with several of my guards and an example had to be made of her." John had to know where this story was going, "What did you do?" he asked. "I sent my men into the town and had them bring back to the camp every female that lived there, regardless of age." Erick said as he leaned back and smiled. "John, the smell it lasted for days." Erick had a boyish smile on his face.
After an hour of listening to Erick's stories, John's gut was turning. He was convinced he was hearing the Devil speak fondly of his time in Hell. Erick had just finished a story about when he had met Hitler and then he said something that really caught John off guard. "Are you here to kill me?" John wanted to say yes, but his mouth had other plans. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" "It's ok if you are, everyone's time has to come." Erick had his hand in the popcorn bag, John heard a click, the recognizable sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back. Erick tilted the bag at John. "I enjoyed our talk." Erick raised the bag to John's head. John knew what was coming next, he quickly grabbed a pen from Erick's shirt pocket and moved just as Erick pulled the trigger, the bullet missed but the pen did not. John had rammed the pen into Erick's neck so hard that it was showing out the back. John watched as Erick's eyes rolled back in his head. Blood was pouring out of Erick's mouth but he still was able to mumble his last words "Thank You."
John ran as fast as he could toward the street, just then Michael pulled up in a rusted out four door Buick that was missing hubcaps. Michael yelled "Get in!" John hopped in and smoke poured out of the back of the car as they sped away. "I don't like being used like this. This is bullshit!" John's adrenaline was pumping out of control. "Relax John, you did good." Michael was calm and had a smile on his face. John grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the dash, pulled one out and lit it. Michael had a stupid grin on
his face. John just looked at him and took a drag of the cigarette. "Where did you get this piece of shit car?" Michael did not say anything he just smiled and kept driving.
Now it was official. John was a killer. In a way things had gone full circle. When he was in Black Ops he had to killed people for the government. There was some very bad people that died at the end of John's rifle scope and even some unlucky souls that met a more painful end at the end of his knife blade. Every kill changed John a little bit more. His personality got colder and he lost a small part of himself with every bullet that he shot. That all changed when he left the military and became a police officer.
Becoming a cop was great for his soul. He was back on track to what he thought was his true calling. He wanted to save lives and to protect the innocent. It gave him something to focus on. It gave him a reason to live again. When his wife Victoria and his daughter Lucy were gunned down in cold blood he was changed forever. That path of righteousness died that night with his family. From that moment only one thing lived in his heart, vengeance. Michael was giving John a way to get his vengeance for his family and at the same time giving him a new way to look at his quest for righteousness.