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Nathan Greene waved to the last of the crew as they drove off in a battered jeep. He was glad to see them go, and even happier that they'd finished so quickly. Getting those big rigs up the narrow winding, little more than a dirt track, fire road had been nerve wracking for all of them, even if they had done it before. And he had other worries to eat at him now.

Johnny Lee still wasn't back. Not that Nathan has really expected him back this quickly, but still he worried. Johnny Lee was his brother in ways that even the strong blood relations that generally dominated life in the close knit back country community couldn't understand. They'd faced 'Nam together and that was a sort of war that most would never truly understand.

"He can take care of himself but those hijackers were just plain weird. And why there are only six left out of fifteen." He grumbled aloud to himself as he made sure the heavy doors had rolled completely down and the elaborate camoflauge further hid the once natural opening that was barely wide enough to let the eighteen wheelers pass.

As he moved stealthily though the cold November night - making less of a ripple in the calm of the night than a passing stag would - he pondered on not wether the Aryan Brotherhood would begin pressuring Johnny Lee to sell them the arms at cut rates, given the fact that Johnny Lee owed them - but how soon.

And his neck is so damn stiff about paying of debts of that sort He thought wryly as he entered the line cabin and lit the kerosene lamp waiting on the large table that took up most of the small building's single room.

Supposedly only the Park Rangers and the Fish & Game Wardens had the keys to the sting of cabins that ran along either side of the mountain but that was a 'supposedly'. Several of them had made a good bit of money under the table making sure that the buildings remained unlocked. Their government paychecks weren't all that large. And mostly, as long as Johnny Lee's crew wasn't hurting the forest and too much of the local wild life, the rangers and the wardens didn't really care what the locals did to make their Federal brethren unhappy.

He waited an hour, judged by his own excellent time sense and double checked by the movement of the moon and the Tag Heure chronograph on his left wrist. Expensive watches were one of his few luxuries, and he alternated among his extensive collection almost every day. Just as he was about to leave for the alternate rendevous point, Johnny Lee arrived.

"Damn it Three, took you long enough!" Nathan growled he wrapped Johnny Lee in a quick rough hug and hid the rest of his worry behind a pounding slap to the bacl of his 'brothers' right shoulder.

"I was done pretty quick. Those guys gave me the willies. Katherine Ann Power had nothing on these assholes for being radical." For Johnny Lee to admit being unnerved was uncommon, but the group he'd just finished dealing with was looney tunes to put it mildly. "I stopped off to drop a line about having special stuff for sale."

Nathan nodded, unsurprized. He knew that their very carefully set up word of mouth distributorship would spread the word to equally carefully selected ears. The information would not get out quickly though. And there was always a risk of it reaching the wrong ears despite their precautions.The two aging Vietnam Vets had spent too much time growing the pocket empire to want to see it brought down over quick profits. They would need to be extra canny and vigilant for the time being. But that was nothing out of the ordinary for them. They hadn't been winning the game for so long without being good at what they did, smart, wary, and keeping Lady Luck satisfied.

"Lets go wait for Jonni Lea to get in, see what information she picked up outside." Nathan suggested. He could use a drink and game of pool or two down at the Boars Hole. And they might pick up some new gossip as well. For it being no more than a road side bar the Boars Hole had a fair number of truckers dropping in - both regulars and one shots. And trucker's liked to talk. Thir lives cooped up as singles or, for the rare lucky ones, doubles generally left them happy to have company. That's why CB's would never go out of style.

Johnny Lee frowned slightly. He didn't really approve of some of the things his cousin, though she was more his 'lil sis' than cousin, did to make money, but driving illegal loads wasn't the most dangerous of them. "Sounds goodd actually." He also needed to get the monthly payola to Danny Roscoe, the sheriffs deputy that covered the north part of Johnson County, and he knew that that overweight foul breathed piece of scum would most likely be found at the Boars Hole 'just keeping an eye on things', and and getting wasted he thought sourly.

The lamp doused and the door 'apparently' locked the pair settled into Johnny Lee's HMMWV. They shared grins as they discussed the thought of one of the weapons in the load they'd just bought being installed on the HMMWV as it was meant to be.

"Wouldn't Danny be just green if he saw us rolling down sixty seven with that on the lid?" Johnny Lee chuckled and Nathan had to laugh. The Deputy was a big beefy bully, but like all bullies he was a coward inside.

Johnny Lee's face lightened as Jonni Lea's voice came over the CB, letting the listening world - if they could interpret what she was saying - know that the load she was jockeying was almost to the bar.

"She'll beat us there." He snorted. She wouldn't be talking about the Boars Hole unless she could see the lights.

"Three, she takes the mountain seriously, you know she's a safe driver." Nathan shook his head slightly as Johnny Lee worried aloud. They'd had this conversation before.
http://www.atddm.com/jldream.gifWhat Johnny Lee and Nathan would like to scare Danny with...

I threw back my head and howled as I came down off of the last of the Jinx Run- the stretch that lay just west of Mountain City as I- 421 (http://www.atddm.com/jinxruncombo1.jpg) ran up and down the mountain that separated one tiny town from another, namely Winchester on the west end from Mountain City on the east end. Winchester was even smaller than Mountain City, but I’d pulled over there to check the ailing brakes one last time. It wouldn’t do for Johnny Lee’s “lil sis” to end up in a thousand pieces. And me being said “lil sis”, could thoroughly agree with that notion. The sun was well below the horizon behind me, even if a mountain hadn’t’ve been in the way. and I tossed my shades aside to land on the seat at Bobbi Lee’s paws.

Waylon was wailing about the good old boys…

Just the good ol' boys, Never meanin' no harm,
Beats all you've ever saw, been in trouble with the law since the day they was born.

Straight'nin' the curve, Flat'nin' the hills.
Someday the mountain might get 'em, but the law never will.

Makin' their way, the only way they know how,
That's just a little bit more than the law will allow.

Just good ol' boys, wouldn’t change if they could,
Fightin' the system like a true modern day Robin Hood.

I sang along with him, feeling the big diesel engine of the eighteen-wheeler throb down deep in my bones. The semi was a not too old and still mechanically sound engine wise, a Freightliner with a nice size cabover (http://www.atddm.com/chrtruck.jpg) - other than the crappy brakes. I hoped that it would survive the run, for it’d likely be abandoned afterwards, and if so I’d wait a bit and file salvage on it. The brakes could be fixed, and cost far less than trying to buy a semi outright. I’d want a custom painted trailer however and that might not be cheap..

Waylon finished up and my favorite song came on.

I howled again, a primal wolf sound hanging in the air of the cab, and Bobbie Lee (http://www.atddm.com/jlss.jpg) joined in this time. The sound of back country instruments that mimicked the wail of bagpipes poured forth, then the heavy down beat,
Johnny Lee’s, written just for us by Steve…
Copperhead Road….

I was purely relieved to see the small cluster of lights that signaled my destination. The Boar Hole was nothing much by the light of day, but all that neon made a pretty sight when one was coming off the mountain and those damnable curves in a rig with crap for brakes and a load of over aged dynamite. I hadn’t to have opened the crates to know that I wasn’t hauling any sort of regular load, and I’d tripled my fee – and gotten it up front, before I set foot to the rig’ step up. Old dynamite has a certain smell, and while most wouldn’t recognize it I most certainly did.

"*Breaker, Breaker one niner *" I half chanted into the CB headset, as on long slender but strong finger keyed the mike, the pencil thin boom hanging off to the side of my lips. "* One Lady Thunderbolt’s looking for a little rest and relaxation, so I’m gonna be slingin’ the shots*" That would let the two cars and one ‘hog’ that had been providing discrete rear guard know that they could close up, head home, or meet me at my destination as was their choice and personal nature. Hadley’d probably turn his hog about and head back west. He wasn’t a parytin’ sort but trusted me to get him his cut of the action when next we met up.

I was glad that I’d arranged to meet and deliver at the Boar Hole. It was just outside the town’s limits and I didn’t want that load on my hands any longer than necessary. I’d discretely warn all the quarrymen that the new load of sticks were oozing and therefore they might ought to be sick the next few days. Martin Stromeyer owned the quarry and all that cold fish did was count his money. He didn’t give tinkers damn about his workers or their safety. Better to be sick a few days, lose the money than lose your life and leave a wife and kids behind. Times were hard – when hadn’t they been, but we’d all chip in to help – just like we always did.

Me? I wanted off this suicide rig, a drink, a toke, and maybe a bit of one on one if there was any one of the few acceptable men about. I was picky about a lot of things, particularly the opposite sex. I liked men, yes indeed, but they had to be the right sort of man. Unfortunately most of the locals weren’t – not by a long shot, despite their inflated self images. Or maybe it was because of- I grinned I knew that was the second largest fault of some 99% of the locals – the first being that any man to try and catch my eye had to live up to Gran’da & III. And that was no easy proposition.

Then the lights of the Boar Hole were close and I pulled across the highway to the larger lot on the north side - across from the tavern. No sense in parking this dangerous a load close to the building. I locked up and with Bobbie Lee waiting, changed from sneakers to strappy, heeled sandals and made sure my Daisy Dukes and tied up top were just right. The lightweight army jacket with my custom CopperHead Road patch concealed the shoulder rig that held my Forty Five, but fell open enough to show off my feminine assets. Satisfied with my image, and with my heavy purse slung across my shoulder I skittered across the empty highway, trying to ignore the late Novermber wind that wanted to chill me to the bone. The parking lot had a fair number of cars, one of which was my Midnight Blue ( http://www.atddm.com/jlcar1.jpg ) as I called him, a 71 Dodge Challenger with a 426 hemi to liven things up.

Then I was in though the door of the Boar Hole. “Bub!” I sang out to the bartender, making sure he heard me over the various whoops and hollers of welcome. “The usual.” Bobbi Lee headed over to the small corner booth that was ‘mine’ by right of long standing claim – that, and the case of whoop ass I’d unleashed a few time when some one had tried to thieve where I’d been sitting long before it was legal to serve me alcohol. It was close to the juke box and the pool tables. I felt like kicking back for a few and maybe even a game of pool. These were the only public tables around that were still in excellent condition, but that was, posibly, because they were all but new. I had one of my personal cues on the rack.

My eyes met those of my contact and I nodded with a small grin. He’d wait a few minutes, let me get settled, then drop by and under the cover of some friendly banter and leg ogling, take the keys to the rig and deliver them to the quarry. Yes there was a reason I wore the flat out too skimpy by half outfit. If they were looking at you legs, ass, tits and face they weren’t looking for the gun or the dark and devious thoughts hiding behind the blonde bombshell smile.
http://www.atddm.com/jonnilea.jpg

The Boar's Hole...

'Would have been more aptly named the 'Shit Hole', why in the Hell the new guys always get the ass-bag undercover assignments?...'

Johnson county wasn't exactly a friendly sort of place for his sort, professionally or otherwise. Dominic Matthews, two halves of two races the local Aryans couldn't stand, was also a DEA agent. While the Samoan in his bloodline had blessed him with enough muscular bulk to discourage casual taunting, but the Cherokee half reddened his skin enough to make it more than obvious that he wasn't just a sun-browned white guy. His white crew-neck t-shirt fit snugly, but not too tight, loose enough to cover the automatic in his waistband. Black tribal tattoos curled out from under his sleeves, across his large upper arms, and ended just short of his elbow. While he wanted to continue them down his arms, government employees still had to follow the same guidelines as military personnel.

He'd chosen a pair of Wrangler jeans and a pair of Justin work boots for this operation, and while the black bandanna tied on his head didn't quite fit with his ensemble, it made him easier to identify. The SIG was starting to dig uncomfortably into his pelvis, so he adjusted himself slowly on the bar stool. The compact 229 was chambered for a 9x19mm cartridge and was fed from a thirteen round magazine, which Matthews had chosen to fill with Winchester's excellent Black Talon hollow-points. Two more magazines were tucked snugly opposite the pistol.

The operation had called for him to infiltrate the Pettimore criminal organization, run by a former Green Beret and Vietnam veteran, John Pettimore III and a few family members. With his experience in the Rangers, which he'd retired from scarcely two months ago, he'd msot likely have a shot. The organization ran a variety of things, but mostly weed sales and illegal arms. Dom was more concerned about the weed, he'd let the guys at the ATF handle the guns.

The squeel of shitty rig brakes turned his head towards the door, which were shortly opened by one of the people he'd seen during his briefing, Pettimore's little sister, Jonni Lea. She was a gorgeous blonde, but classified as a dangerous customer. The locals wheren't lying when they said that this was THE place to find one of Pettimore's crew...

Bub made his way over with my usual. That tipped me off instantly that something UNusual was going on. Normally Sookie Stackhouse covered this part of the bar and Bub just made drinks and microcaved the chicken wings and whatnot of the very limited menu the Boars Hole offered.

He set the Mohito down in front of me, and whispered that Danny Roscoe was making noises about busting some kids out of Johnson City tomorrow night. "It's that Coltrane kid's group and he's been sayin' how he's gonna get them midway through the Jinx." Then he was headed back to his safe spot behind the bar. It had taken a lot of courage for Bub to come inform me. He'd come back from Nam about the same time as Johnny Lee had but he'd been in a pow camp for about two years and it had hurt him, left him scared inside and scared on the outside.

I pushed my drink aside and left Bobbi Lee minding my purse, my faded army jacket and the shoulder rig I'd slid off before I'd stood up. I knew exactly were the fat pig of a pig was thinking of setting his little trap. Right where a scared highschooler with more testosterone than thinking would go over a cliff that was a nearly sheer fifty foot drop. I was going to let him know that his brilliant idea wasn't so brilliant, but maybe painful - for him.

I dropped a quarter in the juke box and chose three songs quickly.

There was noting swivvelhipped about my movements now as I headed for the chair that Danny was hiding under his rolls of fat. The table he'd infested was also being held down by four of his syncopants. This might get nasty I though then my shoulders eased as Moose and Hamburger Bill tromped in calling for a pitcher. They were the two drivers that had been holding down rear guard for me. They didn't like Danny and his cronies, so if it came down to a bar fight they'd pile in. Danny had no idea that they were on my paryroll for the night either. My grin was evil.

"Danny Roscoe, a little bird just told me you're out to commit murder and get away with it." I said loud enough to be heard over the juke box's sounding out of Saturday Night's Allright by Elton John. That piece would be followed by Eye of the Tiger[/b] by Survivor and last and certainly not least [i]In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins. My meaning should be perfectly clear, even to some schmoe as dense as Danny. But not loud enoug to be heard by the whole bar.

"What the hell you taking about you trouble making bitch?" That wasn't Danny, he was marginally too smart for that sort of loud challenge. Loud enought to be heard by the entire bar, over the music and the talk. Joe Melton thought he was bigger and badder than he was, especially when he had a few beers and was in the presence of the protective umbrella of the law - as personified by Danny.

"I wasn't talking to you Joe Melton" I replied reasonably, still keeping my voice downbut part of my attention ws occupied in assessing the other's close enough to hear the intercahnge. There were a couple of strangers sitting at the bar, fortunately they were aside me not behind me, though one of them had my mental eyebrows going up. Between the skin color and the tat's on his arms, he had to be someone passing though. That the interesting tatoo's stopped short of his elbows made me wonder, just for a second, if he was ex mil. I'd seen some tatoo work like that during my stint in Japan, but it wasn't quite oriental.

"I was talking to you Danny. I'm going to be out on the Jinx tomorrow night and if I find you there, it will be you the wreckers pulling up off the face."

"Are you threatening me, an officer of the law?" He squeeled as he began to stand trying to look officious and menacing.

I closed my eyes for a split second. he was so utterly predictable that it was almost fit for a sitcom. I opened my eyes back and fixed him with a cold glare. "No I'm not Danny. That's a Pettimore promise."

He blanched a bit then having gotten his bulk completely up began reaching for his cuffs.

I had to laugh, he was in civvies - even Danny wasn't dumb enough to wear his uniform while off duty and in a bar - and his cuffs weren't there for him to grab.

Well the laugh did it and his fumblin for cuffs turned into an open handed swing at my face. He missed connecting as I went to a half crouch. Mentally I cussed the high heels I was in. I'd never liked heels and fighting in them, especially in a bar brawl would be a screaming bitch.

Ivan Ivonavitch was in the process of doing his dishes and looking over the collection of ad-mail and newspapers that had been building up. Noticing one that was addressed, he looked up in the corner his eyes flicked up to the corner to confirm it was actually ad-mail. Finding it was, he tossed it back in the pile with a scowl as he'd caught sight of the name, Sam Miller.

That most annoying of names, he thought back to the last time he'd heard the name he'd been born with. It had been the briefing that had lead him to be sent off to America to find a group to manipulate to cause Uncle Sam a headache. That had been close to four years ago, and know with the collapse of the USSR, his chances of extraction and being able to return home were less than nil, meaning he was stuck with the name.

Leaving the dishes to dry, he decided to check his stores and see how many rounds that last hunting session had eaten. Finding it lower than he wished, he decided to head down to the local bar to get some vodka, as well as find one of the Pettimores, his sole reason for being in Johnson County, and hell in the damn state. He could 'lean' on his boss to help get ammo for his AKS-74U or Dragunov, usually for a higher cost than what they'd sell for under normal circumstances but them's the breaks for keeping his cover relatively looked into by the feds.

Sliding a black t-shirt over his head and a light jacket, he brushed his black hair back and headed to the tavern. As he picked up the pace against the wind, which were brisk, he noted that Jonni Lee would probably be there as her car was there. Stepping in he flicked the Boar's Hole with the gaze that would have made his OSNAZ and Vympel instructors proud, discreet enough to be unnoticable, but taking in the entire scene. As he did so Ivan saw that the local militsiya, though that was an insult to the term, appeared to be hasseling the boss's cousin as well as someone new, who triggered his entrained alarms.

He began walking in her general direction to provide back-up in case she needed it, especially as a general brawl was in the making. As he was accomplished in the Systema fighting arts, he knew he could help her. He wouldn't mind knocking Danny Roscoe around a bit, if he got the chance, as the man reminded him far to much of some of the petty bureaucrat that worked in the Kremlin.

My crouch became a stumble as the second swing, his left hand in a tight fist cam out from behind his bulk and caught me, not only by surprize but in the abdomen. I was forced to take several more in' half off balance steps backwards as I did the second thing I had planned. I screached like a pisssed off bobcat.

I knew that sound well. Hexx, a fifty pound if'n he were an ounce bobcat lived near my place - I'd found him on the side of the road with a broken shoulder and nursed him back to health before releasing him-

I needed to get that screach out or Bobbi Lee would'a been on Danny in two heart beats - and would of killed him - Bobbi is one hundred and thirty pounds of pure Shiloh Shepherd, a 'retired' miliarty working dog. And it would've upset Bobbi something aweful to have to rip Danny's throat out - not that it would have stopped him, but he would have been purely miserable for a long time after. Bobbi Lee loved people perhaps a little too much for a police dog, but he's perfect for SAR work. Thats were I make most of my legitimate moeny.

With Bobbi safe I could turn the rest of my attention to what Danny and company was doing. I'd nearly stumbled into the tatooed stranger at the bar, and got out a hasty apology. It wasn't the best idea to involve those just passing through. I moved away, getting too close to Danny to let him get any power behind his next attempts at decking me.

Moose and Hamburger Bill had abandoned their just delivered pitcher to jump in on the escalating fun, and had occupied the attention of two of Danny's sucker uppers. They were whooping and starting to have an early weekend, but hey Thursday is all but friday.

I frowned however as I saw Sam Miller walk in. He was one of Johnny Lees boys and just knew he;d tell Johnny about this- okay so every one will tell Johnny about this but damn it I... my thoughts stopped as I got a bit too busy to think about other things than putting pain into Danny's life - enough pain to get him to back down at least.

I stomped down with one spike heeled shoe- pound per inch! I grinned as I felt one of the fragile bones in his foot behind his toes give under the blow. Danny was a fool for canvas sneakers. His feet sweated something aweful and anything more substancial gave him a case of foot rot. Don't ask me how I know - I'll 'splain later - when I get time to mention why Danny wants my guts for garters.

Ivan mentally winced as he saw Jonni Lee drive her spiked heel into Danny's foot. That was one reason he choose to tread extra softly around her. Fighting females involved too much restraint and they 'cheated', especially with high heels.

Joining the general melee, he wondered if he'd be able to preform a little blackmail to get her to convince Johnny to give him a bit of a discount, as he jabbed one of Danny's lickspittles in the kidney, and caught him by the wrist for a takedown as he watched out in case anyone, at least anyone of Danny's, started tossing things around.

"I wonder what brought this brawl on." He commented to himself as he used his heel to stepped on the man's chest as he started to rise, his faint accent making it's presence slightly more known than usual as he was presently thinking in Russian, rather than English.

That damn twinge in the joint of my right index finger starts up for the third time tonight, and for a few moments I'm gritting my teeth and letting my left hand take most of the wheel.

Then, as it always does, the pain passes and my right hand works again. My killing finger doesn't like to be in one place for too long.

There was a time in my life when I thought that my worth as a man began and ended with that finger. Fortunately that time has passed, and I now know that I'm good for more than just pulling triggers.

Knives, for example...

I laugh a little, and it feels good. It feels good to be alive, to be out in the field again. It feels a little like it used to feel, but without the tinges of panicky nervousness and the knowledge that the only thing that I'd get out of doing the job right was another job.

Now I'm a G-man. The HRT kids are nice enough, a lot of them are ex-military. It's fun to sit around and listen to them tell war stories, these kids, most of whom are older than me. They're SF, Rangers, SEALs, some are ex-Delta, so on. It isn't much fun not being able to join in, though.

The problem with ex-military types is that they adopt a "been there, done that" attitude -- because they have. They also like to talk about it, at least to other people who've been the same places and done the same things.

This is a good thing. It's healing. It makes people able to live with their pasts. It's something that I'll never be able to do.

I came into the FBI with a security clearance higher than the Director, a mess of money, letters of recommendation from powerful, powerful friends, and my scars.

Eventually, my past became irrelevant. I took classes on the side and got myself my bachelors in psychology. Life went on.

Now I'm on southbound highway ninety-one, coming down from Abingdon, Virginia and the Virginia Highlands Airport, where I'd arrived via light plane and met up with my vehicle. It'd been brought by trailer. Pricy, but worthwhile.

I knife around a slow-moving late-model and maintain my pace, over the speed limit, but not to the point where a cop'd get angry. And if they did, of course, provided they had an up to date database, they'd find my plates ran just fine and pull me over.

I've spent too long in the shadows to believe that there aren't any corrupt cops.

I don't look like an undercover FBI agent. I don't look like a G-man. I can look like both, if I wanted to, but right now, I want to like I'm the kind of guy that the mob keeps around for when things go really bad.

Not a hitman. A hitman is a man with a gun. A professional. An Assassin.

It isn't hard, you see. I just look normal.

I go through the case file in my mind. Typical setup, guy leaves the military and puts his skills to work making his life a bit easier. Drugs, guns, the list. Nothing special.

So why would somebody, I hadn't even tried to find out who, pulled the strings to get me sent out here...?

So there were some special ops types. They were people, just like everybody else. People went bad. There were lots of faceless g-men who made theirs lives dealing with those people.

But something else was going on, and I couldn't wrap my head around just what. Bothersome.

I swerved out of the way of some drunken hoodlum, hitting the accelerator and putting some distance between myself and the weaving drunk. I liked my car a lot more than I liked him.

I never had much of a temper, but I've got my limits. Touch my girl, touch my car, touch my family...and my limits are crossed.

Conveniently, I don't have a girl or a family. Dad died while I was off in some wet, damp, shithole or another, and ma'd been dead since I was fifteen. Dad remarried. Number Two and I never got along.

I'm shaken from my musings by the ringing of my cell. I grab the damn thing up, big as a brick, and I hear SA Dana Fielders' voice in my ear. I don't say anything, she just talks.

After a few minutes, I hang up. The road goes on.
---

I drive past the bar that Dana had directed me to and give the facade a once-over. About what I expected. I pull a one-eighty and head back the other way, turning an easy right into the side lot. I park precisely and kill the engine.

My left hand moves my jacket out of the way while my right checks the Smith in my shoulder rig. It feels a lot like a .45, kicks a bit harder, punches like no automatic I've ever shot before. I love the damn thing.

My hand checks the slip on the side of the holster where the suppressor fits, then drops to the interior pocket of my jacket where I keep two spare mags. I don't need to check the knife in my boot, I haven't taken that rig off 'cept to shower for three years.

My problem is that I don't look like a hick. I can't fake the accent worth a damn, which is rare. Whenever I try to blend "hick," I end up looking like a cowboy. No matter how hard I try, a bit of the swagger or the accent leaks in. Which is amazing, because I can pass as a native speaker in most major foreign countries and even more of the little ones.

So I went with it. I'm wearing a black t-shirt under a lined denim jacket and a pair of worn levis. Straight leg, button fly. Just like I used to wear on the farm. I'm wearing an arrowhead bolo and I've got a white stetson in the passenger's seat.

I'm not wearing cowboy boots -- I've never been able to walk in heels meant for stirrups.

To go with the outfit, I've got Kansas tags, Marshall County.

I've got a little V lapel pin. V for Victor. Victor Margasi, the biggest legitimate criminal west of the Missouri. Vic is a pal of mine. I helped him out of a very tight situation, and he'll never quit repaying me until the day he dies.

When you need my help, the price is your soul. A soul for a soul. I own Victor Margasi.

Vic has given me a new identity. Wes Yoren hasn't existed for a long time. My real name is the perfect cover -- it can vanish just as quickly as it arrived. And I won't fail a polygraph. I wouldn't anyway, but it never hurts to make sure.

Now, Wes Yoren is a player from out west. He's got a talent for turning enemies into friends. If they don't become friends, they become corpses. Either way, he doesn't have enemies. For long.

What he does have is a boss who wants a piece of the east.

My reverie is shattered as I draw closer to the door. I don't remember getting out of the car, but I did. Now I can feel a fight. Maybe I can smell adrenaline, I don't know. What i do know is that when there's violence nearby, I tend to know about it.

So I step shoulder in through the door, straighten my hat, and step off to the side. I'm smiling as I discover the source of my hunch, a girl beating up on that most loathsome of animals, the american swine.

That thought triggers something, and I place the face. His, anyways. Well, hell. This is just not right...

My attention widens out to encompass further mayhem, and I smile to myself and unlimber my hands. I ghost up behind one of Swine's lackey's, identified because I had his picture too, and place my hand on his shoulder, spinnining him around to face me.

"Listen, Son, I want you to understand that this nothing personal, but I've been driving for a spell, and my hands are cramping."

I drive my other hand into his solar plexus, my hand on his shoulder coming free so he can fold over and clutch himself. I backhand him directly in the side of the face, and he's recovered from my haymaker. The backhand wasn't hard, just enough to tick him off.

He throws a right hook, I grab his wrist and pull him towards me, turning my body as I do. Then I slam my left elbow down onto his outstretched arm. Hard. The bone breaks. I'm still holding him by the wrist.

"I'll let you go fetal in a moment, partner. The moral here is that if you can't handle keeping the peace, then don't wear the badge. Tell that to the Swine. And tell him that Wes Yoren wants to talk to him, here's my card."

I throw him to the ground and tuck a small card into his pocket, it gave my second cell number and my name, nothing more. I step back into the crowd, my hands feeling better already. I'd just needed to limber them out, was all. I let my attention return to the Swine and his opponent, the lady who'd have been The Farmer's Daughter back in Kansas...

Whatsamatter? Can't a killer have a sex drive? Yeah...Screw you, too.

I grin as I wait, my thoughts drifting into the future. Namely what I'll do to Der Swine when I get my hands on him. People like him make me sick. Bullies, generally. People who used violence for personal gain, in general.

I slip, sometimes, but I've got my cause. A very, very grim smile comes upon me. I'd rough him up in the name of crime and my friends in their suits would deal with him when they came in to clean up after me.

It was then that I realized that I really, really liked my job.

Further thought was cut off as found that I had not faded far enough away from the melee. I limit myself to simple blocks and throws. I enjoy myself. Life is good.

I let my eyes wander as my hands blocked or deflected Danny's awkward blows. Those that got through, and there were a few, simply didn't have enough power behind them to do more than leave some light bruising later. Then one wilder than the others landed on my right tit. That hurt and made my mind stop wandering. Time to end it.

I growled and and paid attention, timing it just right, then moving in for the simplest take down - the very first take down they taught us in MP school. I had always been a fast learner, and I got to practise enough with Johnny Lee and Nathan that I hadn't forgotten anything. It went down - and so did Danny - perfectly.

I kept my voice low as I pinned him to the floor. "Danny Roscoe, if I find you out on the Jinx tomorrow night..." I let him use his limited imagination for a long moment, then made sure I was heard above the fight and the music. Eye of the Tiger "You'll spoil my fun. I'm running the Circle from here, tomorrow, five minutes to midnight" I grinned to myself wondering if any one else would catch the shout out to the second greatest buckin' hoss ever to dump riders on the prorodeo circuit. "Buy in is a clean K or a worthy pink slip and payout is 5 winner take all with buy backs."

Now lets see him be out tomorrow night, and see who else would be too. The word'd get out, possibly state wide and for sure into southwestern Virginia and northwest Carolina.

The fighting had died down as I'd moved in and pinned Danny. Now the bar went dead quiet and I looked up.

Oh Shit! I smilled half sheepishly and completely unrepentently at Johnny Lee and Nathan. They's entered quieter than windigo shadows and had heard the last I was absolutely, completely, unequivacably certain.

I let Danny fall on his face and stepped away as he started to climb slowly and painfully to his seat. Moose and Hamburger Bill let the two they were pounding on drop,

Earlier that day

The rig was a simple enough one, designed to send an electrical current through an ignition system while one had access to the engine. In most car shops around the US, someone would be sitting in the driver's seat, pumping the gas and maybe clutch, while holding the key in the start position, while someone else worked under the hood of the car, trying to figure out what wasn't catching. David didn't have the luxery of another shop hand, he ran Kelly's Auto by himself. So there he stood, bent over at the waist, trying to figure out why the damned motor on the 88 Town Car wouldn't turn over.

He sighed loudly, and checked to make sure the door into the shop was closed, and grabbed a large wrench, designed for reaching the lugs on a motor mount. With the rig still providing an ignition current, he brought the wrench down hard on the motor.

"God damned piece of shit. WORK!"

As if by majic, the motor jumped to life, catching and turning over, and settling out to a nice purr. Well, nice enough for the old car. He removed the rig, dropped the wrench, and closed the hood, walking over to a side door into a shop room. "Well, Miss Wills we got that motor working for ya. Shouldn't give ya any more problems, but if it does, you just bring it back here." He offered a polite smile to the eighty something year old widdow. To live up here was hard enough. To live up here, widdowed, at her age, was pure amazing.

He walked her out to the car, and opened the main garrage door for her. "Thank you so much David, your such a nice young man. How much do I owe ya?"

"C'mon ma'am, you know your money ain't no good in this shop."

"But you were the only person able to fix my car, I have to pay you. You've earned it."

David thought for a moment. He was a bit short on cash, and didn't have any grocerys on hand, so he smiled, and accepted. "I'll tell ya what. You come back on over here a bit later on, bring some of your goulash, and will consider that pay."

"Excellent," the old lady smiled, thanking David again before she slid into her car and drove off.

It was at moments like this, standing in the empty garage, wiping his hand on the dirty rag, trying to get the grease and oil off his hands, that he wondered the same thing he oft wondered. What in the fuck am I doing in this hell hole. He smiled, and turned away, waiting for his next customer. Miss Wills would turn out to be the only one for the day.

Present Time, Boars Head Bar

David sat on the bar stool, munching on a handful of peanuts and nursing a Bud Light. Some obscure football game between two teams he didn't give a shit about was playing on a TV somewhere, and music blared over a jukebox. He was alone, an empty seat on either side of him, and that was what he wanted for the time being. Just some quiet time to sit and drink his beer.

He heard Jonni come in, and turned to eye her up discreetely. If such a thing were possible. He had seen her around town often enough, talked to her a few times, and every time had managed to avocid staring at her chest durring the convorsation. She reminded him of the girls back home, really back home. Those mid west Texas girls with the cute southern draw and soft skin, with a soul and spirit as tough as raw hide. Her ass wasn't half bad either.

However, he knew little of the Pettimore dealing's, and kept out of their personal affairs. It wasn't his place to get involved, and all he wanted was to live in quiet peace on this moutain, work on some cars, and hopefully one day make it somewhere big.

It all unfolded fast, faster than he expected. One minute Elton John was crying about something or other, David had never been a huge fan of the guy, and the next, fists were being thrown and tables broken. However, he stayed back, leaning against the bar watching the brawl unfold.

"You ain't gonna jump in?" the bartender asked the former Marine, wondering if it would be prudent to grab one of the many shotguns held behind the oak.

"Nope. Ain't my fight, let them all settle it on their own. Best if they get it out of their system."

"You gonna let him hit a girl like that?"

He watched as the cop took his swing at Lea and connected. He shook his head, he did want to get involved, but knew much better of it. "Mister, where I come from, once some chick takes a swing, all that chivalry shit goes out the window. Get me another beer," he half ordered, holding up the empty Bud Light bottle.

The fight was still a ways off from the bar and in the process of dying down, and the bartender complied, taking the five from David, and punching it into the cash register. He returned moments later with a dark brown bottle of teh beer, and David went back to doing what he did best. Watching.

"I wonder what brought this brawl on."

The man Ivan was stepping on just yelled wordlessly and tried to throw Ivan off. But he was more than half drunk and mostly fighting for the fun of it. He gave up quickly as it became hard to breath.

The wash of silence made Jonni Lea's announcement a full blown challenge procolmation. And alerted every one to the arrival of Johnny Lee and Nathan.

Johnny Lee just shook his head at Jonni Lea and headed for 'his' normal booth. It was on the far side of the pool tables from Jonni Lea's, and no coinidence, but he'd 'owned' his longer. The look on his face revealed nothing to any one who did not know him intimately, but Nathan knew his 'brother' well enough to know that Three was fumeing.

However there were several strangers in the bar tonight, almost a dozen and one of them hadn't just been looking on interestedly, but had been contributing to the mayhem with too much pleasure to merely be defending himself. Johnny Lee would wait till later to tear a stripe or two out of Jonni Lea's hide.

I think about going for my sunglasses, but decide not to. Later. My eyes are just another tool, gray-green windows to the abyss.

I stared into the abyss, and the abyss stared back...

Faces are easy. When Herr Pettimore Drei made his entrance, I was rubbing my knuckles absently. I noted the change in the atmosphere, and smiled, not because I was pleased, but because I had been smiling earlier.

Well, grinning, anyways.

So, this would be much more difficult. Pettimore's gang were just located in the area, they were part of the area. An institution. Removing them would take time and copious amounts firepower.

Or a great deal of finesse.

Which was just fine by me, really. Ideally, I'd do what I did to Vic. Decriminalize the place. But, then again, maybe I'd just kill them all.

My eyes flick up and about the bar, resting on the blonde who'd been beating on Herr Swine, then moving on after a few instants.

Maybe not.

I ponder just plain out approaching Pettimore tonight, but decide against. I want Swine in my pocket before I get involved. Which wouldn't be difficult for SA Wes Yoren.

For Wes Yoren, Vic Margasi's most trusted, and feared, lieutenant...it would be easy as easy. I pointedly don't grin ferally, like a wolf. But I'm tempted.

I catch myself, breath deeply, and it passes. I found myself in an African shithole, leading near-naked warriors with AK47s against other near-naked warriors with AK47s. I wasn't just pretending to be a Warlord, I was a warlord.

Just like I'm not pretending to be a ruthless killer expanding the boundaries of his organization.

Well, that isn't entirely true. I'm not ruthless. I have my limits. My limits are just somewhat farther than the average citizen's.

I'm also a right bastard. In the moral sense.

I tap a button on the pager attached to my belt, and the compact unit relays a simple command to my first cell in the car. A numeric sequence is sent to SA Fielders in the C&C van, off in the boonies somewhere.

My support has a very good response time. And a helicopter.

Said helicopter transits rather quickly, being not too far away to begin with, then circles over the Boar's Hole a few times, sweeping the area with its spotlight, obviously taking pictures, then returns.

Returns to Virginia Highlands...in Virginia. We're the Feds. We don't care about silly things like jurisdictions. The United States IS my jurisdiction.

Jolt things a bit...perhaps. But there really were pictures taken. The photographer was equipped with a truly impressive zoom lense, and his mission was license plates.

Setting the stage, you understand.

I didn't say any thing more to Danny. He was smart enough to know that if he did anything to Bub for spilling his plans to me, that he'd be longer dieing than I'd take. Bub was ours, and he'd earned his scars the real way. I swept my glance over the bar, once again taking in the tatooed stranger, a pair of older locals who were just glad the free for all hadn't gotten too free, and a newcomer but making it into being a local, named David, who'd done good work on some of Meemaw's friend's cars. We'd chatted maybe a double dozen lines in the grocery store once or twice. And while he hadn't been in the Amy he'd done just as good by being one of 'Uncle Sam's Misguided Children'. Johnny Lee'd looked his past up when he first came to town. He had a nice Texas accent and his ego wasn't too big for him to carry.

But what I really like was the way he treated Meemaws friend's.

There were more strangers than usual I noted once again...and noted that Sam was not hustling directly over to Johnny Lee. He was a not so new comer himself and had done good work as one of Johnny Lee's Boys. I appreciated that he'd stepped in to the fight - kinda, grudgingly but help is always appreciated - but even more that he wasn't brown nosing. I loathed suck ups and that was a known fact.

Moose and Hamburger Bill had settled back to their pitcher but I caught their eyes and let them see that I'd not forget their help either. There was a K for each of them in my purse, double what they were expecting.

The last man standing was a lupine fellow with cool grey eyes that I didn't recognise at all. Nor was he a trucker come in off the road after me, the feel wasn't right. He'd been standing over the biggest of Danny's little cadre and moved away with a practised grace. He looked too...something, couldn't put my finger on it but something ...especially when we locked eyes for just a moment.

I served eight years as an MP, I grew up an outlaw and came back to being one...and there is something missing from the grey eyed stranger that raises the hackles of all my instincts. I memorized his face and his movements as I went back to my booth and took my first sip of the waiting Mohito. Johnny Lee couldn't stand the things. I first expereinced them on a short leave down taking in Maimi, and I an purely addicted to them.

The chopper catches my attention, for a moment- it might be a SAR's looking for me, but they'd have landed if they were and they didn't land. That meant Feds. No one in Tenn would put up a chopper just to surveil the Boars Hole.

My contact can finally come over and while we chat I slip him the keys and the warning. he went pale and closed his eyes for a long second, but he'd been paid well for his much shorter and easier run. Then he was out the door and a few later I hear the semi's heavy motor turn over.

Ivan looked over to the door as a silence had fallen over the tavern while Jonni made her challenge, the bosses had arrived. Stepping off of the man, he let his eyes drift over the other man who'd joined in, the one who almost reeked of a lack of professionalism. Was he efficiant, without a doubt, but absolutely unprofessional.

Heading to a table nearby the pool tables, he tossed his coat on a seat before heading up to order a glass of neat vodka, his usual potable. Returning to his seat, he mulled over Jonni Lee's challenge but knew that if she was racing, he'd be throwing his money away.

He wondered what the helicopter was doing as he drank down the vodka down. Finishing the glass of the potent liquor, he got up and stretched as he headed over to the pool tables, wondering if he'd get anyone interested in a game.

Momma always said I'd come to no good. She was right. Momma was always right.

I can never remember a time when she was wrong about anything, right up until she got hit by a drunk driver driving home from a quilting party. That poor drunken bastard was my first.

Kill that is. I did him slow and sloppy, on a break, returning home from a really nasty job in southeastern asia. I blooded my favorite knife on him.

I step outside the bar, my thoughts turning reflective...and I don't like to be around people when I'm reflecting. My reflexes get over-reactive, and for all that I'm civilized now, I'm still a highly trained killer...my reflexes are lethal.

I crouch down to tie my boot, and my hand is filled with Colonel Applegate's work of genius. The perfect knife.

My Applegate-Fairbairn Fighting Knife, handmade by T.J. Yancy in Colorado. I have never owned nor used a sweeter knife. Rex Applegate took Captain William Fairbairn's Fairbairn-Sykes dagger and made it into a fighting knife. I've used this particular knife for many years, and the tales that that length of magnificent high-carbon stainless blade could tell...

The bits of DNA that you could find on that blade would read like a Who's Who amongst assassinated foreign badmen.

My mind is slowly slipping back into the darkness, and I physically shake myself to stop the slide. I don't need to go back there, not in my own country, not amongst people, criminals though they may be, who are basically decent. Johnny Lee Pettimore, Criminal though he may be, was not the kind of monster that I specialized in dealing with.

He didn't rape children, for one...

My hand slides to my jacket pocket, and I take out a small pack of gum, pull a stick, and start chewing. Working my jaw muscles relaxes me, don't ask why...I don't know.

I feel my muscles start to ease, and the killing fever passes. Even now, when I haven't been active for almost a year, it still seizes me sometimes...and when I'm like that, I'm just as dangerous as an atom bomb.

My team, we made the Rhodesian SAS look like ghetto hoodlums...

I slip my knife back into the boot sheath, after picking a sliver of something out of my thumbnail. Probably a bit of textile from Swine's Lackey's shirt, or something. I wax poetic...

My lips form words that I don't speak, because somebody might hear, and A.E. Housman's 'Here Dead Lie We' was not standard mountain-folk talk.

'Here dead lie we because we did not choose
To live and shame the land from which we sprung
Life, to be sure, nothing much to lose;
But young men think it is, and we were young.'

I killed my youth, as surely as I killed so many "threats" to my home. Such was the price.

My pager buzzes at my waist, and I quickstep over to my car. I tap the remote and fetch out my cell, leaning up against the sleek red coupe as Dana Fielders' voice murmurs into my ear. I don't say anything, save for "Golden. Stay safe, darlin'. Tonight is a witchin' night."

Who said there couldn't be truth in code?

I replace the cell and lock the car, check my gun in its shoulder rig, then head back into the bar, checking my hat as I push through the door. This time, I head to the bar itself and order a drink. Scotch, in a glass, straight.

I heft the glass and ogle the color of the scotch, swirling it about just a tad.

This time, I let my voice work a bit, just loud enough that if somebody was listening intently, they could hear my words...

"O Mortal Folk, you may behold and see
How I lie here, sometime a mighty knight;
The end of joy and all prosperity
Is death at last, thorough his course and might;
After the day there cometh the dark night,
For though the day be never so long,
At last the bells ringeth to evensong."

(from 'The Pastime of Pleasure' by Stephen Hawes)

I down my drink with my one eye closed, then let it open once the glass is dry. I don't know where I started that ritual, but I haven't failed it since. I set my glass down on a twenty, shrug off the change.

Then I leave.

Dom shifted slightly to keep Jonni Lea from bumping into him, and nodded politely to her swift apology as she went back to her backwoods beat down. He knew from the moment she'd laid eyes on him that she'd picked him out for something different from the usual two groups that frequented this pitiful excuse for a bar, the truckers and the locals. He was beginning to wonder why he'd even spent the money on the ridiculous over-sized belt buckle with his initials on it, centered above his zipper fly, a silvery disk the size of an ash tray.

The female knew how to handle herself, maybe not as well as himself, but he'd been kickboxing since he was eight. Samoa was close enough to the Far East for Thailand's national sport to filter down to his great grandfather's native island, and the family had been producing warriors ever since, even after it had merged with the Cherokee bloodline and moved to Chicago. He'd grown up in a poorer section, close enough to the housing projects for crime to be an issue. Dom had lost count of the number of street-fights he'd been in, the first twenty had ended badly, but the rest had mostly gone in his favor. An old Everlast heavy bag had become his closest friend, beaten to the point that the dye had started to leave the leather. Its sacrifice had not been in vain, however. When he entered the Army, he already held a few local titles in boxing and had won several local 'tough-guy' competitions. As his service ended, he'd only become better, adding a dimension he'd neglected to his repertoire: Ground-fighting. A few submissions applied in the right situations could end a fight faster than any power-packed high-kick or round-house hay-maker. The DEA hadn't had much to teach him in that department...

The place got quiet real quick. Dom spun an about-face in his bar stool to observe. It looked like the bosses had arrived. Their faces matched the photos he'd seen during his initial briefing, those of Pettimore and his brother-in-arms, Nathan Greene. Dom noted the distinctive tomahawk that hung from Pettimore's belt in a leather holster. The little research he'd done had mentioned the Berets carrying such items, and using them to great effect in the jungles. He didn't doubt Pettimore knew how to use it, either. The thing didn't just cut you, it broke things, like ribs, when it struck.

Pettimore retired to his booth, followed by Greene, and Jonni to her own chosen place of seating. The atmosphere had changed, and while he couldn't quite feel it, he knew Pettimore had to be royally pissed. You didn't brawl in the king's castle, and a guy like that had every right to call wherever he put up his feet his castle. The helicopter passing overhead worried him. If there was another federal agency working on this case, he hadn't been informed.

Casting a quick look around the bar, he noticed one of Pettimore's boys, a guy who looked anything but back-country, starting a game of pool. Downing the rest of his beer, a mere swig, he slid a stack of singles across the bar with the empty bottle, and dismounted his seat to join the game. Selecting an unowned cue from the wall rack, he chalked the tip before smearing chalk across the deep reddish-brown hue of his skin to ease the sliding on the cue on the arch of his hand...

"You wanna break?"

The fighting died slowly, some last hold outs still going. Pettimore the third and one of his ilk had entered the bar, and their general presence slowed any acts of aggression. David just sat back and nursed the beer, waiting for everything to finish its play out. When it had, he decided to do something beyond sitting.

He made his way past some patrons, over to the jukebox, and fished through the song list. A few quarters here, a button there, and soon Led Zepplin's Rock and Roll was setting to line up. He made his way past the pool tables, ignoring an offer for a game, and over to Jonni Lea's table.

He was carefull, keeping his eyes above the chest, especially with her cousin cum brother in the building. His approach was unassuming, with no hint of sexual desire in it, just walking over to a friend. He choose his words carefully, having been in this game for a good enough time, and knowing that certain words just were not flat out mentioned.

"So, what's this circle thing you were saying about just a few minutes back?"

I'd slid the cannister of dog chow that I kept stashed under the booth out and served up Bobbi Lee some and he was chowing down with his usal good appetite, as Rock and Roll came on. It wasn't one of the more commonly played peices here in the Boars Hole, and I looked up to see who'd put it on. David was making his way over to my booth and I gave him a smile. Bobbi Lee eyeed him sternly for a moment then went back to his food. I think he found David acceptable.

"So, what's this circle thing you were saying about just a few minutes back?"

My smile went wider. I loved running the mountains, race or no, and passing the addiction on was something I enjoyed too. I took the final sip of the Mohito, and stood up.

I walked over to the wall and reached up to a large roll down holder, like schools used to store maps all wound up like window black out curtains. Tugging on the pull down ring I brought down a large map, carefully hand drawn and labeled. (http://www.atddm.com/monstermap1.jpg) It wasn’t by any means complete but it showed a set of roads in precise, carefully laid down detail.

“It’s set to one inch equally seven hundred meters, and it’s taken from surveyors plots. And you have to remember that these roads are old, and most only minimal maintence if the terrain isn’t danger enough.. And most aren’t banked properly at many of the curves and the grade too steep,- steeper than the Feds will allow in new construction- in many places as well. “ I said I I traced along the route with a slender but strong finger. “You can see the obviously dangerous places easily but some spots that look safe on paper aren’t when you see them for real.”

"There is the great circle route as it was named years ago. which takes one into North Carolina, and the little which only about half the distance. I'm sponsorin', I guess you'd call it a roll 'round the great circle mainly 'cause" And my voice was wryly bitter "Danny the ass in a deputies uniform will get away with murder other wise, and I'll take my chances with the highway patrol before I'll let him kill a bunch of kids just to get his over inflated ego stroked." I took a deep breath and held it for a long second. I know I hadn't gotten too loud but still, wasn't good to let my emotions show too much.

I went on, now explaining how each driver is given a bucket of color-coded golf balls. There'd been too much cheating and a couple of deaths over said cheating in the past, this was our solutions to that problem. “There are spots were witnesses will be, and you have to dump one of your balls in a bucket at each of those sites.. You can start out heading east or west as your choice..”

I didn’t say that I far preferred heading west for the start. The Jinx was safer going up, rested, than coming down tired near the end. The roll to Shady Valley where one dropped a golf ball in the bucket atop the mail box at the sole traffic light the small hamlet operated, turning south on to 91 for the run to Hunter and the small airport there- a quick lap of the airport runway, dropping the next ball in the tub placed at the far end of said runway – and avoiding any planes that might be landing or taking off – after dark it was ILO only and no one on duty at the shack they grandly called the tower.

Down the not much more than a mile to Elizabethon, and east on 19 as it ran south towards Hampton near the bottom of Watauga Lake.

"Where 321 dead-ended into 19 is a DQ, closed come ten pm, but there’ll be a bucket on top of the order box. Flying north, then winding east along 321 - past were 167 splits off and crosses Watauga Lake- and on till you get to the state line where another bucket waites, and maybe state cops from two states." I grinned.

"Then, if you don't get caught and pulled over, when you get to 421 in Sugar Grove, go north 'til you recross the state line. On into and through Mountain City – dropping your last ball – or your first if you decide to run the route in reverse -at the road side diner on the north side of 421, meeting back up here at the Boars Hole."

I concluded, watching him for any sign of real interest.

The door opened, letting in cold night air, now containing more than a hint of damp, and the not so subtle stench of bigotry as enfleshed in the tall but not spare frame of one Earl Welch, the local commander of the Aryan Brotherhood, and five of his cronies cum bodyguards. Thier entry stilled much of the newly rejuvienated talk in the bar.

Nathan let Johnny Lee know of their arrival with a flick of his eyes. Johnny Lee, as was usual for him, had chosen to sit with his back to the door, but given the fact that the booth's partitions reached nearly to the ceiling, wasn't that unwise. Especially not with the vigilant Nathan sitting cattty corner on the other heavily padded bench to give himself a good, if angled, view of all who entered. Johnny nodded and took another sip of his beer. He drank less than most thought he did, but he prefered to keep up appearances.

He'd definitely noticed the stranger who'd come over to play pool with Sam. And now the stranger, obviously of a racial background second only to one other to inflame Earl and his lackeys, was right in the area that Welch was heading - toward himself and Nathan. He cussed a blue streak in the privacy of his mind. He hadn't expected Earl to show up till tomorrow. And he wondered briefly what poor ****** was going to find trouble in his life later tonight. Johnny Lee wasn't much concerned with race himself. Any one of any color could be a sorry son of a bitch, a pimple on the ass of humanity and better off cholorinated out of the gene pool. Jonni Lea had told him that one and it'd made him grin for a second. His grin faded as he watched her chatting with the local mechanic, David. He would have words with her later about taunting and robinhooding Danny. She'd probably end up killing Danny one day and every altercation they had would be just more evidence aginst her. Mentally though he threw up his hands. He'd never had any luck reasoning with women, particularly the strong willed women of his family. Frowing he turned his attentions to the approaching danger...

Earl's stink. His b.o. was something powerful...

Dana Fielders was in no way a field agent, and she looked the part, in her immaculate skirt-suit and sternly regulated brown hair - short, vaguely wavy. She thinks that she can hide her dislike of me behind a professional demeanor, but she can't.

Well, she isn't the first person to find me...unnerving. I'm as closed to used to it as I get.

"Well, it was about like I expected. The local cops are about as bent as an angle iron. We'll see how they like my nastier side..."

I'm talking to the wall behind her, because she can't bring herself to care what I have to say. But she still hears the words, and she still does her job. I don't much care whether she likes it or not.

I shrug out of my jacket and free the Smith, then hit the mag release and jack the action back, ejecting the round in the chamber. I don't bother to catch it, just let it hit the ground, before stooping to pick it up.

I place the mag and the round in a box, before taking an empty mag and loading it one by one with rounds from a freshly opened hundred round carton.

I gently push the mag into place, then jack a round into the chamber, eject the mag, slide another round into the mag, then replace the mag.

Is there a point to this? Not really. Doing things with my hands. Keeps me calm.

I reholster the Smith, then pull my jacket back on.

"Keep a watch on things, Dana. And don't tell me about what I let slip by under my nose. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

I grab a box of .338 Lapua ammo and make for the door. Dana's voice stops me short.

"What are you taking that ammo for? That's rifle ammo!"

I turn and smile, "I'm goin' huntin', darlin'."

The night beckons.

David ran his tounge over his teeth, contimplating the information. It had been a while since the Gallant sitting in his backyard had ever turned over in anger. More specifically, since aquiring the vehicle, it had never been raced, just tinkered with. But then again, a car like his needed to be raced, it deserved it. It was a birth right to the vehicle and its herritage.

He had been on the roads once or twice, and knew they sucked ass. But then again, having all four wheels spinning at once, and the nifty ability to point the front and back wheels in the right direction would give him the handling edge. While he was positive the majority of racers would be showing up in V8s pushing out high numbers, he was satisfied with his power. He had no clue what he was putting down officially, there were no dynos in Mountain City, but with his touches, the number would be north of two seventy five at the wheels. With the AWD/AWS, light wieght of the car, and his rather agressive tune, he would be more than a match for these bruisers. And if all else failed, well, his car was developed in the mountains of Fuji, while most of the locals cars were developed on the streets of Detroit. He smiled and relaxing smirk, and nodded.

"Looks like fun, something I could get into. You said a slip works for a buy in?"

"Looks like fun, something I could get into. You said a slip works for a buy in?"

"If it's a worthy car, and most consider my word rightous on wether a car passes." Jonni Lea started to smile then it died aborning as a gust of cold wind blew in a man she loathed even more than she did Danny Roscoe.

Her eyes went narrow and cold for a moment then they swung deliberately back to David, and her voice was light, but any one listening intently could hear a undercurent of anger. "Care to ride a round of the Circle?"

If she wasn't in the bar she could stay clear of potential trouble. She didn't need to be in any greater trouble than she already was. And she'd have the pleasure of driving the Mountain with some one who seemed to be rather interesting, and interested.

"Sure." He replied as he racked the balls as he took in the stranger who was most certainly not of caucasian stock. He did it both as a Vympel agent and as a person, the one looking for signs of professionalism, the other simply curious.

As he finished setting the balls up and returned the rack to it's usual position, the door to the Boar's Hole swung open, revealing one of the few locals Ivan disliked more than Danny, Earl.

Looking over at his opponent and back to Welsh and his band of thugs, he wondered how ugly it might get as they seemed to be headed toward the pool tables. "It may be best for you to make yourself scarce." He commented in a low voice as he walked past the man who seemed at least partially indian. "They don't play nice with non-whites."

Welch was hard to miss, either you saw his lard ass before you smelled him, or vice verse, but it was usually the second one. Johnny had no real qualms about Earl's issues with people other than white folks, so long as it didn't interfere with his money-machine. The ingredients were simple: One part guns, one part weed, and one part human demand, and he basically had a license to print money.

Welch's stinking ass had been a loyal customer in the past, buying up arms and dope alike for his local white supremacist chapter. Pettimore noted the snarl of disgust on Earl's face as he passed the tattooed pool-player...

"Fuckin' half-breed..."

It was just another show of Earl's ignorance. The man clearly didn't have a white gene in his entire genetic background, if anything he was part native American. Now that was a group Johnny could get along with, after all they'd shown him the ancient art of the tomahawk, a tool he always carried with him. While he also carried a forty-five, a Colt Gold Cup, it usually stayed in the Humvee. Nathan's Mark IV Colt usually got the message across when the small hatchet bumping along on Johnny's hip didn't drop a heavy enough hint.

While Pettimore was an arms dealer, he didn't maintain a stockpile of firepower...

'I've done so much with so little for so long that I can do anything with nothing...'

It was possibly his favorite saying, a motto of the Army Corps of Engineers. A few crates of Claymore anti-personnel mines, a few bouncing bettys, an old M1A outfitted with a small-power scope (he'd forgotten what power long ago), a Mossberg 500 shotgun, and a fiberglass compound bow. Nathan had his deer-rifle, an old Remington 700 with blonde wood stock and a high-powered 20x scope. A crate of old Armalite M16 rifles was around there somewhere, next to a pile of LAW's and a few boxes of hand grenades. Nothing too fancy or extensive...

It wasn't much, but it suited his small crew just fine. Both he and Nate had used similar gear during 'Nam, and they'd practiced with those little German machine-pistols they'd stolen a bit, but they'd be more useful as bartering chips. By this time, Welch had reached the table, and was standing to Johnny's right, oozing that nasty stench of his...

"Next time you haul your lard ass in here, take a fucking show first..."

Earl looked like he was about to say something, but something shiny under the table caught his eye, the brushed chrome of Nate's Mark IV sliding out of its cross-draw holster. Not that he needed it, Nate was about one and a half Earl's size, with a lot less body fat...

"You got them new guns? Me an' my boys been waitin' a good long while for dat quality hardware..."

Earl's question wasn't out of line, but Nate's pistol remained out all the same...

"We've got 'em in the usual spot. I'll have one of the boy's wheel a crate or two out to ya as soon as you pay us..."

Earl laid a thick roll of Ben Franklins on the table, bound together with a dirty hair tie...

"Fifty-grand..."

Pettimore wasn't impressed. He wanted at least five thousand per weapon, with twenty weapons per crate. Earl wasn't even paying for half a crate...

"You get ten..."

Earl's expression soured...

"That ain't even halfa what we agreed on..."

Pettimore's tone didn't change...

"We agreed on two crates, and five thousand per weapon. These aren't civilian models, these are fully-automatic and highly concealable. They're worth the five K each..."

Dom shook his head at his pool-partner...

"Fuck 'em..."

White trash with superiority complexes didn't scare him, and with that little bit of blue steel hiding in his waist band, he doubted they'd both screwing with him. Most of the jackasses were about his size, some a bit bigger. They didn't, however, have the kind of muscle mass he posessed, and he doubted their fisticuffs could stack up either. Maybe he was being over-confident, maybe not, but it looked like he'd have the chance to find out when they decided to stop hassling the King of Johnson County and make themselves scarce, as his nine-ball adversary had so bluntly put it...

Care to ride 'round of the Circle?

David could hear the tint of anger. Or was it hatred? Either way, it was the tinge of discomfort in her voice that told David to take up the offer. Besides, it had its pros. First, he got to spend some one on one time with one of the more attractive females in town. Hell, not just one of the more, but the one who was arguably the most attractive. Second, he got to take a quick dry run of the Circle, see what exactly the route held in store for him, and give him an idea of the route. He never turned down any edge offered.

Before he answered, he took a quick glance, and noticed Earl walking in. Earl was one of the white supremacist types, the ones who hate all non Christian non whites for some ass odd reason. David had met many of their kind in the Corp, they thought they were something special because they couldn't tan. He mostly ignored them, they rarely brought any of their cars by his shop and he never hung out with their ilk. That, and they generally hated Catholics as well. David had never been one in touch with his faith, but he went to Mass every Sunday when back home, and even if Earl didn't know that, the very Irish last name Kelly didn't really do anything to hide it.

While David had been known to crack a good off color joke, he had served with a number of blacks, Asians, Mexicans, and the like, and anyone willing to die for the Flag was good stock by him. He could tell by the tone in her voice and the flick of the eyes, Jonni was taking the high ground and leaving before another mess started.

He looked back down at the pretty green eyes of Jonni Lea and smiled. "Sure thing Jonni, sounds like it would be a bit of fun." His drawl was slowly starting to fade, but the hint of a Texan accent was still there, enough to identify him apart from the Tennasee folks. "Let me just grab my jacket, then we can get away from these bassackwards thinking jerk offs."

"Let me just grab my jacket, then we can get away from these bassackwards thinking jerk offs."

That brought out real dimples and she nodded. "I've gotta get mine too. I'll meet you out at Midnight Blue." That way he wouldn't possibly be put off by the sight of her slipping on the shoulder rig. She wasn't sure how he felt about women wearing hardware.Oh the hell with it Better to find out than freak out.

"Actually David, let me grab my jacket, rig and purse and we're outta here."

I moved quickly over to the booth, slid the rig on and slipped the jacket quickly over it. I didn't make a big production of it, that'd just call attention to it. And Danny was still sitting and fuming.

Once David had grabbed hsi own coat, we headed out of the door.

Danny had waited, not wanting to look the coward that he was, by leaving when Johnny Lee came in. He'd wait and fix Jonni Lea's little blue car later. If he could find it. I need to find where that crazy bitch hides out. She doesn't live with her aunt, or Johnny Lee. I wonder if he's screwing her? I wouldn't put it past them. Hey Earls here Danny thought relieved. Earl, his cousin wouldn't let him gert hurt. even if he does buy guns from that arrogant asshole. Johnny Lee is just a jumped up moonshine runner who thinks he's made good. Earl and the Brotherhood ought to teach him a well deserved lession. Danny's thoughts were venemous as he watched Jonni Lea and the shiftless ownermanager of Kelly's Autos. What does she see in that kiss ass? Bet they are going off to go get wasted and roll around like animals Deciding to follow the pair, and spy on them, he stood and headed towards the men's john. It was right by the back door and while the Boars Hole's manager didn't like people going out the back way, he was too scared to say anything to Danny.

Ivan simply shrugged. He'd given the man fair warning and that was that. Looking at the table, he noticed the Jonni Lee was departing, nixing his chance to request her speak with her uncle about a discount and he just shrugged as he broke the rack. He wasn't playing hard, but was using a fair amount of skill as he was only playing to relax rather than for something.

Now I'm getting irritated. I'm sitting in the Stealth, my eyes half-closed, the engine dead, pulled off the road enough to where I wouldn't get hit. I'm waiting for the cell phone to ring, and it isn't.

I'm not the type, the character I'm playing is even less of the type, to wait for other people to get their acts together. My patience with Swinekin is equivalent to nonexistant, my patience with broken, bent, and power-abusing "officers of the law," especially when they were also Swinekin, was best expressed in negative numbers.

I've got the box of one hundred rounds of .338 Lapua sitting in the passenger's seat. I've got three boxes of similar size in the locker in the trunk, but I hate to break into my "emergency" supplies...

Then again, I can't say that I expect to be going through four hundred rounds of .338 any time soon. Most things tend to expire after just one, y'see.

I haven't broken my rifle out of the locker, yet, but I wasn't entirely joking about the hunting. It wouldn't bother me terribly much to track down Danny Roscoe and put a bullet through his heart.

But bullets are messy. Especially if I used the rifle. Knives, on the other hand, are anonymous. But, I remind myself, I'm not in some third-world anarchic shithole anymore. I'm not a law unto myself.

Somewhere, deep inside my head, I feel my demons laughing their asses off at me.

I sigh and pull a manilla folder from the briefcase that is open in the bucket seat behind my chair. There isn't much space in the back seats for humans. A grown man can get in back there...if he lays down. There's about two inches of clearance for feet.

Opening the folder, I thumb through briefs. I linger over the briefs on the handful of Pettimore-associates that I saw at the bar earlier, biting gently at my lip as I think. I'm thinking I shouldn't have left the bar just yet...

I suddenly realize that was far too much to hope that Vic's rumor-spreading had reached ears in these parts. I'm not afraid, just annoyed. Wes Yoren should have had a rep, but then I recall the total lack of anything when I mentioned my name to lowbrow I'd beat up and dropped a card on.

"Congratulations, Wesley. You've outsmarted yourself again."

I'm thinking I should have had somebody running surveillance on that dern bar. I'm realizing that I was so caught up in recollection that I forgot what I was doing here in the first place. Then I remember that I don't know what I'm doing here.

I let myself calm down, focusing on my breathing, then start to look at things again. I broke contact, which was stupid. Then again, nobody ever said I was smart.

Nope, I just make up for stupid mistakes by being better at everything else than the other guy.

Now I'm wishing I had a bigger helicopter. Something like a Huey, or a UH60 variant. I've had a hard-on for the HH-60G for quite some time. But what I've got is an OH-6A Super Cayuse, and an unarmed one at that.

Maybe if I went up myself, with my rifle, I make the damn Helo into a weapon. I haven't been overly impressed with the FBI's marksmen. Then again, I have awful high standards.

I fetch up my cell and make a call, my voice is quiet and I speak in nonsensical code words. Dana Fielders would think I'd finally gone insane.

Dana Fielders never read Jabberwocky...

I hang up the cell and drop it down into its cradle, then I bring the Stealth back to life and pull out onto the highway and head out of town.

So I'm out for blood. So what's yer point?

I take the wheel with one hand, and with the other I slip the sheathed SOG Bowie into the loops on the arm of my jacket. I'm grinning, now, because I've decided that perhaps the best way to introduce the world to Wes Yoren is to engrave my name in somebody's forehead.

Unconventional, remember?

"We agreed on two crates, and five thousand per weapon. These aren't civilian models, these are fully-automatic and highly concealable. They're worth the five K each..."

Walsh squirmed inside, angered that this arrogant back woods jumped up asshole woulde dictate such terms to him. Earl liked to forget that he was from Johnson CIty, which was only marginally larger. But under Pettimore's glare he just nodded and pulled out another wad of bills and tossed to that it came to rest along side the other pile. "One crate now then and next next week, Tuesday night, I'll have the money then for the second crate"

He thought about the plans the Brotherhood had for Monday They'd rehearsed them and timed them just right and the little toys he would pick up shortly would be just the perfect accompanyment. He grinned inside as Johnny Lee picked up the other roll and pocketed it along with the first.

Earl looked about, he'de seen his no'count cousin Danny when he'd first come in, but it looked as if he'd left. He shrugged and joined the rest of the Brothers who'd come with him at one of the long tables across the room. He knew that he had to wait till midnight to pick up the crate at the 'usual place' - the long closed whistle stop at Neva. He snorted to himself as he poured a mug from the pitchered sitting on the table. Neva had been a thriving if tiny community once, back when rail power was just that power, but when the trains had stopped running short hauls, well before the depression, it had died. Now there was an ice house style bar, a state hysterical site, a mailbox, a mom 'n pop with a single gas pump, and the first cell phone tower in the northern part of Johnson county. Oh, and the closed up tunnel that the rail roads had cut through the heart of the mountian...also known, for Earl Walch's dealings with Johnny Lee Pettimore as the 'usual place'

He was smart enough to know that Pettimore had more than one usual spot, and he'd pay money to find those out, but he wouldn't risk his like trying to find them on his own. The mountain had been the Pettimore's longer than it bore thinking about.

He noticed that three of his men had chosen to play pool at the other table the bar held, right next to the one infested by the half breed stranger. Idley he wondered how long it would be before they proceeded to teach the tattooed stranger that being both a half breed and a stranger in these parts was a dangerous thing. He didn't care if the Sheriff got called in the ensueing ruccus, none of those with him were scheduled for the operations set for Monday. He smiled as he savored the word. The pair of operations his Chapter had planned would put them on the map, bring them immense respect inthe eyes of the locals, and bring back ten fold the money he'd just laid out for the german made H&K MP5's.

Nathan had divided his attention between three things.

Earl's too close for comfort presence until he got the message and removed himself from proximity to Johnny Lee's booth, Danny's waddle towards the mens room, and the game of pool the three ABer's were playing.

While he might like to remove Earl now, for the good of humanity, he wouldn't until he and Johnny Lee decided that Earl had been paid back in full. Then Earl's days were seriously numbered. '

However he could mke life a little embarassing for Danny immediately. "I'll go call the boys" he commented in a low voice to Johnny Lee. Pettimore nodded and Nathan headed for the pay phone that hung on the wall between the two johns. Three didn't ask him why he chose to use the land line rather than the expensive and some times finiky cellular phones both carried of late. Johnny Lee could read the deviltry in Nathan's eyes.

Nathan took the heavy ladderbacked chair that most dropped into when making a call and wedged it under the door knob of the door leading to the mens room. The door had be hung wrong and now it wouldn't open until some one came along and removed the chair. Chuckling to himself, Nathan called and set up the delivery to Earl "And don't let him bufflao ya. One crate, 20 of the pretties and their cases. Nothing more, no matter what." He said firmly to the elderly relative of Johnny Lee's mother who lived near the the 'usual place' and acted as an intermediary delivery person. The crates would be at the ususal place in about an hour and the older man would make a thousand for baby sitting them for less than three hours.

The last thing he'd been keeping an eye on hadn't happened by the time he got back to the table with fresh drinks for Three and himself. But he was willing to bet cash that it would before he and Johnny Lee left. The Aryan Brotherhood was too touchy to let pass some one of mixed blood playing on local's tables. And he'd like to see how Sam handled himself.

David nodded, and moved over to teh bar, grabbing his coat. It was nothing special, a light, beat up leather jacket that smelled of oil, greese, and other scents of an open garage. He slid on the jacket, it fit well, and dropped another five dollar bill on the bar. An extra tip. He moved past the buisness deals, the racists, the game of pool, and around a few broken chairs, and was soon out in the cool night air, right behind Jonni Lea.

He took a deep breath, it reminded him of West Texas in fall, and smiled. The mesquite was the only scent missing, the one that he loved the most. The burnt twinge of grass used to always make him smile, and he always found a good piece to chew on while working on his car, or just getting drunk and doing stupid things with friends. He stopped the reminiscing, and followed Jonni out towards her blue Dodge. "Nice night," he said, almost to himself, just loud enough for her to hear.

Dom sank a solid ball in one of the side pockets, then leaned off of the table...

"Looks like you're stripes, pal..."

There was something odd about his opponent, but he couldn't quite place a finger on it. He backed up a bit to give the man some room, but bumped into one of the jackasses from earlier, who had apparently started up a game of their own...

"Excuse me..."

It was best not to start any trouble, lest he blow his cover. Thinking the altercation was resolved, Dom leaned forward to take another shot on the table. Something propelled him forwards with enough force to jam the sharp edges of the SIG into his stomach...

"We don't like your kind around here, motherfucker..."

This dude was backwoods burly, like he'd been hauling timber since he was three. He smelled like it, too, or maybe that was the booze he'd been slurping down for the past fifteen minutes. Brown liquor tended to sour one's breath as well as one's mood...

"Exactly what 'kind' do you think I am? You seem to be a fuckin' expert in the field of racial identification..."

It was past blowing is cover. This might get ugly really quick if he didn't do something. Conventional wisdom said to leave, but he needed to get into the Pettimore organization and feed some info back to his contacts in the DEA. With Pettimore sitting less than fifty feet away, this seemed like a fine time to prove himself a stalwart and unmovable individual in the face of a possible lynching...

"You're a god-damned ******, that's what you are! Niggers ain't liked 'round here, so get the fuck outta here 'fore we turn ya into a ba-****** and hang ya from a tree!"

Dom knew that was coming, somehow. It was time to show the inbred sons-of-bitches who they were dealing with. He lifted up the tail of his shirt to about even with his pectorals. The word 'SAMOA' was inked in a slight arc across his abdominals, surrounded with more of the tribal designs visible on his arms, as well as putting his pistol in full view...

"I think you're wrong, you cock-sucking sister-fucker..."

He let his shirt return to its original position, covering his handgun again. He'd shown them that he was both armed and most certainly not an African-American...

"You little shit..."

Dom considered dropping him with a shot to the forehead, but figured he'd get off easier with an assault charge. His contacts, or hopefully Pettimore, could get that waived. He set the SIG aside on the pool-table, followed by the spare mags. Toying with the idea of beating them with the pool-stick, he finally set it aside, too...

Water cascades down onto my face and body, washing away the caked-on blood in a red waterfall that ran down my body. I hadn't exactly been expecting what I'd found, but when I did find it, I abandoned whatever it was I had been doing.

I can't remember right now. It wasn't much important then, and it's even less important now.

I'd gone out looking for a fight. I found one. The problem was that it was over when I got there...

There's quite a bit of blood in a human body, and three of them had emptied themselves onto me as I hauled them out of the rather aggravatingly deep ravine I'd found them in and stretched them out on a tarp I'd pulled from the Stealth's emergency kit.

My clothes were ruined, more or less. Soaked through with blood. My hair, matted with blood, had hardened by the time I got back to Virginia...

I'd called in the rest of my team, because something about the way the bodies were...butchered...was familiar. It was on the drive to Virginia Highlands that I realized why, so I'm not feeling guilty.

Besides, the ID cards I pulled didn't belong to citizens of the state of Tennessee, which said "kidnapping across state borders" to me. So the FBI had jurisdiction, but I just put the corpses in a big old "chest" style deep freeze, because that case wasn't my problem.

Completely unrelated to anything in Mountain City, just an unfortunate coincidence...but as a consequence, I'm not going to be going crazy-psycho-killer tonight. The SOG bowie was back in the Stealth's central console.

Anyways, fate was, in a strange and disturbing way, smiling on me, because Dana Fielders in person is a lot more arrogant than she is over the phone...and a lot more ready to bitch and throw the book at me whenever I don't follow it, which is always. Half the stuff the book says gets you killed, in my experience...

But the book did have its good points, like explaining in clear, bold letters the importance of intel. So, without my input, Dana had ordered the Boar's Hole watched.

I emerge from my shower refreshed, no longer caked in blood, wrap a towel about my waist, then step out of the bathroom and dress myself out of a suitcase.

Simple t-shirt and honestly worn jeans, plain black jacket, boots, the usual array of sheath and holster.

I step out of the tiny little room and meet Dana, who hands me a folder and starts yapping. I stay quiet and absorb. Learning...

"Nice night

"Beautiful night." My voice was as soft as his as I replied.

I stopped and watched David watch the night for a moment, then I raised my eyes to the heavens and looked at the disappearing stars. High, dense clouds were moving in, sending a darkness flowing over the mountain. “I don’t think it’ll rain tomorrow, but I bet we have snow on Saturday.” I commented to David as I lowered my eyes to more earthly sights and covered the rest of the distance to the ’71 Dodge Challenger I called Midnight Blue. I didn’t bother to mention that the Blue wasn’t locked. No one locked anything in Mountain City other than the Bank, the govmn’t offices and the doors on the two cells in what passed for a police station. And they hadn’t started locking those till about three years ago. I was pretty sure that David'd already pick up on that, even if he’d been here only ‘bout a year. He seemed to be fast learner.

Bobbi Lee hopped in the back door that I opened for him, and spun around twice on the thick, dark plaid horse blanket that covered half of the back seat.. Closing the door the door behind him, I swung my own open and slid in behind the wheel with easy grace. “The interior’s mostly not original, and both the front and back windshield have had to been replaced.” The keys were already there and I turned the big 426 hemi over.

“Meemaw says that my father’d run a load up for a big Dodge execs wedding, and the Blue was a special one off just for him, in payment... The color’s custom, the seats were custom dyed to match leather – they cost me a lot to recreate. It had a R11- music master AM radio, never worked, Meemaw says, after the day my folks were killed. I replaced it back in ‘90 with a Bose Life style system the minute they came on the market.. The CD player’s in the trunk.”

“My mom didn’t like the Blue, Meemaw says, says she was afraid that the car’d be the death” I continued on, but reached out to pat the dashboard gently “of him. So when they left me with Meemaw to watch overnight while they took ‘an escape’ down to Nashville, they were driving the big kick’em up truck that Johnny Lee’s left behind when he went into the army. They died up on the Jinx, took a curve wrong the report said and went over just at the top of the ‘Deadly Pins.’ They aren’t there any more, the Feds reworked the stretch back in the mid eighties after a senator’s son tried to run them while dead drunk, and died on them.. One more hick local in a string of them hadn’t mattered.” There wasn’t any venom in my voice.. I well understood that the rich and powerful were those that could get things done, and scant few else counted. I’d never be powerful, but I might some day be rich. And that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“Now lets get away from here and find some place with good lighting. I want to make sure that asshole didn’t tamper with Midnight Blue.” I spun the wheel and headed towards Kelly’s Auto. “You willing to open up late for just a few minutes? I pay cash!” I grinned at David, liking the way the dashboard lights played of his strong features. He’d listened to me talk about things I seldom did and had sat quiet.

I liked that.too.

David eyed the Challenger with awe and respect. One of a rare breed, Dodge had never really had it's head on straight in the old days. It was late with all its cars, the Charger barely making it in with the rest of the muscle cars, and the Challenger catching the coat tails of the Pony Car wave. But what they lacked in timing, they made up with the best looks of all the good ol' days, and ingenuity. The hemispherical head design was, for the time, ingenious. Now a days, everything had hemispherical heads, but the good ol' four two six was the first to really make it work.

He slid into the car, admiring the craftmanship. He had been in his fair share of late model 'Maros and that God aweful Mustang II, and a few Fox body five oh's, but Detroit didn't make them like they used to. It was ironic, David thought, that back in the day, with no compition, the Domestics were the best when it came to build quality. But with the flood of Asian and Europeans into the mass market, the domestic build quality dropped. David let that thought linger for only a moment, took a fleeting glimpse of Jonni's gorgeous legs as she slid into the Dodge, and then sat back into the seat, listening.

He liked listening, he was good at it. Everyone always wanted to talk, to tell a story, and then they wanted him to tell his. He never thought his story was worth much, maybe a few minutes, but would rather spend his time learning about others. It was easier that way. That, and the strong, silent type always seemed to work for him.

They aren’t there any more, the Feds reworked the stretch back in the mid eighties after a senator’s son tried to run them while dead drunk, and died on them.

David nodded, knowing from his time in the Marines that more oft than not, it was the children of the rich and powerful whose presence always made life more complicated. He was tempted to make a joke regarding the Kenadies and their family migration south, but let it slide, allowing himself to be intoxicated by the sweet sound of Jonni's voice.

You willing to open up late for just a few minutes? I pay cash!

The Marine jarhead in David wanted to reply with a smirk and a line along the lines of 'Don't worry about cash, I'm sure you can pay me better with your top off.' However, the Marine in the dress outfit, and the Texan gentelman in him, simply allowed an out ward smile, and a nod.

"No problem. It would be nice to work on a performance car for a change." He smiled, and stole another glance of Jonni's face, the soft light offering an inticing glow. He stuck his hand in his pocket, making sure his key ring was still there.

"No problem. It would be nice to work on a performance car for a change."

I know the depth of my smile flashed my dimples, and I didn't mind in the least. The roads were empty even if it wasn't yet even nine in the evenin'. People tended to head to bed early around here. The quarry's first shift started at six am, and they were the biggest local employer.

Midnight Blue rolled to the first of the two lights that slowed traffic on 421 as it looped westish of town and met the end of 67. (http://www.atddm.com/mcdwntwn.gif) I turned right on to 67 and went the less than a thousand feet to where Oak Street dead-ended into 67. The drive way into Kelly's is directly across from Oak, and as a crow flies less than a mile from the Boar's Hole.

The motor purred quietly as we pulled into the parking lot and I shifted into neirtal so David could get out and open up a bay. I hope he wouldn't mind me asking to borrow his bathroom so I could change. The distraction outfit was just that, saved for keeping mens eyes on other things. But for getting under a car up on a lift, and getting greasy, I'd prefer my usual clothes.

Once he'd had the door up and the lights on I rolled the Blue in and positioned him over the lift. I popped the trunk and turned the motor off. Leaving the keys in the ignition, I slid out and let Bobbi Lee out as well. Pulling an over night bag out of the trunk, I held it up so David could see it. "Mind if I use your restroom to change? Grease monkey work in heels is just wrong."

He nodded, but a flicker of resignation could be seen in his soft brown eyes. I liked their warmth. He was being an absolute gentleman, but any man would be disappointed with my changin clothes.He'll like my usuals well enough I grinned inside. The jeans were faded button front 501 hip huggers that fit like a second skin but were comfortable to me, and the top was a cropped army tee. It'd make sure that David knew that I wore no bra, but damn well didn't need it,- without being obvious about it. And the driving moccs tucked in with the rest would give me good pedal feel out on the road.

By the time I got back he had Midnight Blue up in the air and was giving the undercarriage and mechanicals a thorough going over.

http://www.atddm.com/kellya.jpg

A steel strong hand came down over the Sig, the clips and the cue. A deep but crisp voice came down over the huffing and puffin of the three ABers, as Johnny Lee adressed the thrio by name. "Mike, Wallace, Stew, drop what ever it is you are carrying/" It was a command and none of the three cared to disagree with hiim.

Thye'd made the mistake and Three was going to enjoy watching them pay for it.

"You know Sam," Johnny Lee said ruminatively to Miller. "They're fixing to try and beat up on your partner here, and while I some how feel that he can take care of them himself, you might want to gather up the load of odds breakers and make sure they don't try to involve others in their little lesson for the night."

The three Brotherhood hard bodies - or so they considered themsselves - glared at him as they were divesting themselves of a variety of the aformentioned 'odds breakers' in the form of a sap or two, a for real knuckle duster, and three handguns.

Sam watched the events unfold wondering how the man would deal with it. He'd been almost certain it would happen. The racists always did like to pick fights. He raised an eyebrow at the man lifting his shirt and revealing a tattoo, depicting his racial origins and the pistol. He was more surprised at the fact that he was willingly disarming himself when he had three thugs wanting to pound him to the ground.

As his boss stepped in, he could almost hear the three ABers deflate. Few had the gall to stand up to Johnny Lee when he gave an order, at least not many around these parts.

"Alright, will do sir." He replied as he began gathering up and pocketing the various 'toys' the ABers were carrying. He was wondering which would be more profitable, selling them back or to JL, as with the fall of the Soviets, his extra funding was starting to dry up.

David nodded as Jonni walked off, and then slid underneath the Challenger. His eyes slid along the lengths of the underbody, the leaf spring set up, and followed the exhaust piping to the headers. From there, the good bits dove into the engine bay, where he would need to pop the hood to look. However, he could tell just from hearing her run, the four twenty six was in perfect condition. Just like the driver.

He eyed the changed Jonni, his eyes settling on her legs for a moment to long, and then went back to the car. "Well, the suspension looks tight, as tight as its gonna get. Tires are a little worn on the right side, a touch to much on the negative camber. Its putting to much wieght on the inside of the tire, wearing them unevenly. I can fix the camber plates, but getting new tires might take a while."

He let his eyes trail along the under body towards the front, and pointed out a burn mark on the exhaust piping. "Got an exhaust leak forming right there, piping looks like its over heating."

He was focused on his task of fixing the Challenger, he would have time to chat with Jonni soon enough. While it was hard enough to keep from staring at her, he managed it well enough, and checked for any more faults on the Challenger, which, to him, were few and far between.

"Got an exhaust leak forming right there, piping looks like its over heating."

"You have good eyes David!" I exclaimed as I joined him and looked the exhaust over, while sneaking a good look at him too. "That's barely noticeable."

"I'll drop him off Monday morning for the camber plate and new tires. I've got a load to run and will be gone a couple of days, and you can take all the time you need. You don't have to put me in front of other jobs. What I'm mainly worried about right now is did that little pink pig sabotage my lines. I wouldn't put it past Danny to do shit like that, take out my brakes or steering just as I hit the Jinx."

David nodded, looking over the under cariage. "No biggy, shouldn't take to long, don't have any real appointments yet anyways. If you want, I can hook up a flush system, pump air through the lines and look for a leak. See what we can find?"

He just glanced at the lines, not seeing any leaking hydrolic fluid. However, it wasn't really the leak you worried about. It was the loss of pressure. Loosing hydrolic pressure in the lines would put a driver in a world of trouble. "If nothing else, I can just check the full system, pads and all. replace anything that needs it."

He paused for a moment, and ducked out from underneath the Challenger. He walked over to a maching with hook up lines, and started to pull it over to the Challenger. He would check the breaks tonight. "Ya know, you should be careful on that run of yours. Could be rough, make life difficult. Of course, I'm doing it when you run tommorow night, who am I to talk?"

Of course, I'm doing it when you run tommorow night, who am I to talk?"

"But you'll be in your own car...What ever it is you have tucked so securely under that tarp out back. Tonight you're riding with me, and while one day the mountain will take me home, I'd prefer not to cost anyone else their life." Jonni spoke with calm acceptance of her some day fate, but she also sounded deadly serious about not taking any one else with her.

"Tell me what tools you need, and we'll work together on this."

David nodded. "I know what ya mean. I never race with anyone else in my car. Save weight, but I don't wanna take anyone with me."

He watched as she turned for a moment, got a good eyeful, and then looked away as she looked back at him. "Don't worry about tools, I just need to unhook one of the break lines, and pump air through it. Just help me unhook this line, and we'll get going."

He pointed out the line, and with a bit of work, they managed to disconnect the line, and David held it up to prevent fluid from spilling out. He then hooked a vacum line into the end tip, and clicked on the compresor. It pumped a solid stream of air into the line untill the fluid was fully compresed. That only took a few minutes, but the next step would take longer. With it fully compressed, the pressure holding steady, he locked the PSI reading inplace, and then grabbed two flashlights, handing one to Jonni.

"This is the fun part," he said over the sound of the airpump. "Just gotta go over slowly, looking for leaks. Then we can check to make sure the pressure doesn't drop when the breaks are engaged. It checks for problems in the lines."

I don't do much flat out racing, I know that I don't turn that good a quarter, and thats not what I really love doing. I like driving and the Circle makes you drive for your life. There 'nother place, down south a bit that's just as hard, but I'm not often down that way to run the Dragons Tail" I commented

Then we can check to make sure the pressure doesn't drop when the breaks are engaged. It checks for problems in the lines."

I took the flashlight David handed me and with a nod began following the break lines searching intently for breaks. It was cold in the shops bay - the temperature was plumeting even more outside, and I knew my tits were reacting, but I really didn't mind David appreciative looks.

"So what have you got back there? I've never slid in and taken a peek, but I've heard you've spent a lot of late nights up working on it. What? You don't think people haven't kept and eye on the newcomer in town?" She laughed at David's look. "Johnny Lee probably had you checked out within minutes after the first time Meemaw brought her car to you."

David chuckled. "Well, its nothing to special, just a little bit of a rally beater. Gets around nice, quick off the line, handles well enough to not get me killed. Just tempermental is all." He kept searching, going over every inch of line, looking for the fluid leaking out. "I don't have any on my end, what about you?"

She responded negatively, and David moved back over to the machine. A quick adjustment, and the pressure gauge shot up, and then held steady. "Pressure holds fine, looks good so far. I wouldn't worry about your breaks, they look good, plenty of pressure and fluid in the lines. If your worried, I can just flush the system and refill it. But other than that, I think its gravy. I know there ain't anything wrong under the hood, so I think your baby here is good to go."

David was smart, and avoided any more glances. He had pressed his luck enough tonight, he wouldn't keep it up. Instead, he disconnected the machine, and hooked the break line back up. "Ya really wanna know what I got out back?" he asked, half offering to show it off.

I handed the flashlight back to him as he finished hooking the breeak lines back up. Then I leaned in and dropped a kiss on his cheek when he least ecxpected it.

"If you say not to worry then I wont. And yes I'd like to see what you have." I replied flirtatiously.

He is just too yummy to resist ...but you scarecly know him...so? He's hell the far better than any one else around here, and he's being a gentleman while you tease...yes he is, but lets run the mountain first I argued with myself, and won.

David smiled somewhat sheepishly at the kiss, and then shook it off. He had to remain profesional for the time being. He wanted to grab Jonni, take her in back to his bed room, and never leave. However, that was out of the question for the moment. Instead, he just smiled at her.

And yes I'd like to see what you have.

"Well, I did offer."

He led her out back, through a small side door, facing a tarp covered vehicle. He flicked a switch, and a flood light lit up the area around the tarp. He grabbed one edge of the tarp, and pulled it off slowly, rolling it backwards, revealing the black Galant VR4 (http://www.dragsource.com/regrides/91glant/picture1.jpg). "Here she is. My own black beauty, ninety one VR4. Only two liters, but thats a raw, turbocharged, high reving, all wheel drive, four wheel steering two liters. No proper dynos around, so I won't know for sure, but shes gotta be pushing a decent amount north of two seventy five. Just right for the job."

The black Galant shined in the man made light, the paint polished and waxed to a high sheen. The light glinted off the hood of the sedan, giving it an almost romantic look.

"She's lovely" I breathed, my breath plumeing in the cold, as I began a slow walk around. "You don't see these here, though my friends back in Japan have sent me a few pictures." I nodded, thinking of what little I'd heard of the Galant.

"She's goning to enjoy the mountain with that all wheel drive. But you need to learn the mountain first...so come on, lets roll!" I knew however that the gleam in my eyes wasn't there for just that thought. You just don't do one night stands Jonni Lea, not even for some one as fine as David Robert Kelly...I know I sighed to myself and looked to see his reaction as I held out my hand.

She's goning to enjoy the mountain with that all wheel drive.

"That she will," he replied, almost matter of factly. The car had been built just for this mountain racing, tearing up the twisty mountain roads of Japan. He pulled the cover back on, hiding it from prying eyes. He killed the lights, and looked back towards the door.

But you need to learn the mountain first...so come on, lets roll!

"Well, I'll take any advantage I can get." He smiled, and took Jonni Lea's hand. "Lead the way!"

Back at the Boars Hole

The fight was in full swing, the three "tush hogs* having not waited a scond to pile up on the dirty half breed. They thought they were tough, and for the local bar brawlers they were. Fearsomely tough and with the buffering of alcohol and selfrigheous ego, they could take just as much dmanage as they could deal out.

However they hadn't recconed with Dom's long and constant training. The fight was no holds barred and more than once bodies were picked up and thrown. The fight was roughly contained to the pool area, and the pool tables would need new slate tops...

One AB'er was spun aside, so that his stumbling efforts at staying on his feet put him directly in to Sam Miller.

"Well, I'll take any advantage I can get."

"I've heard that about Marines" I teased him as I enjoyed the feel of the firm calluses on his palm, the hands of a man who didn't hesitate to step in and get things done.

I lead us at a lope, never releasing David's hand, back to where the Blue and Bobbi Lee waited. Once we were out of the garage and David had pulled down the door, dousing most of the interior lights as he did so, I waited just long enough for him to settle the seatbelt comfortably.

"I'm going to go the west route around. I've always felt better about going that way, you pay your dues to the mountain early on, taking the Jinx on the up roll, rahter than coming down. " I explained as I rolled west on to 421 (http://www.atddm.com/thejinx.gif)and in the blink of an eye on the empty road was at cruising speed and flying past the Boars Hole.

I reached over and cued a CD on the changer in the trunk and Born to be Wild began pounding out

Sam watched the fight, wondering if he should step in to help his pool opponent. He decided that if became necessary he would, or if an oppertunity presented itself to knock the racists down a peg. Racism was not something useful or benefical to the people, and something he disliked as well.

He wondered who'd be paying for the pool tables as one of the ABers stumbled back causing him to run into Sam. Catching the man he sidestepped back to avoid having the thug knock him over and subsequenly land on him, while sweeping his foot under the off-balanced racist. As the man fell, he 'accidentally' stepped forward so he could kick him in the side.

All his actions were deliberate, but could be construed as mild clumsiness to the unobservant.

The heavy bodied thug landed hard, the wind knocked out of him for a moment or two, and the kick that landed just below the ribs didn't help, but he wsa a tough, expereinced bar fighter and managed to grag Sam's foot.

With a heave he sent Sam sprawling backwards, partially into Jonni Lea's empty booth.

"You clumsy sack of shit" he ground out as he tried to catch his breath and scarmble to his feet, intent on advancing on Sam with murder in his eye, and repayment in mind for the accident.

Nathan debated for a moment on stepping in to deflect the angry Aryan back toward the pool playing stranger, but as slight shake of the head from Three stopped him, and he just settled back into the booth watching the fight with interest.

The fight blocked him from seeing Earl quietly ordering the remaining one of his brethern to slip towrds the back and release Danny from his entrapment back in the men's john. He wanted Danny to follow Moose and Hamburger Bill, for he'd seen Jonni Lea slip the pair something when she had stopped at their table on the way out with that sleezy auto mechanic. He knew there had to be something wrong with the man who'd bought the defunct repair shop and was some how making a go of it. He was from Texas and and ex- gireen, his intel had told him, running from some bad debts his big mouth had gotten him into. Idley he wondered if it's be worth the trouble to drive the wimp back out of business, one of his boys had been whining about starting his own business for some time.

Danny has slipped out some minutes ago, pissed that his cousin had ordered him to follow the two locals, but also interested in learning what his nemisis had past to those to bums. They were just leaving as he made it to his car, and he frowned as he watched the two get into their cars. He's have to chose to follow one of them. He chose to tail Hamburger Bill, figuring that the older man would decide to go straight home, and that would take him though the Jinx "And thats an excellent place for an accident" he chuckled to himself as he began to follow Hamburger Bill west on 421.

Sam caught himself, arching his spine slightly so he avoided landing on the table's corner which would have hurt. "I'm not the one who tripped over his own feet." He said slightly mockingly as he knew an angry opponent was an opponent who was off balanced and liable to beat himself up in the process.

"Frankly, I've seen fat-assed blacks with better balance than you." He scoffed as he prepared to sidestep the nigh-inevitable charge.

David smiled, and slid easily into the Challenger. He buckled the seatbelt, and no sooner had the metal connected, Jonni Lea rocketed the Challenger out to the route.

I'm going to go the west route around. I've always felt better about going that way, you pay your dues to the mountain early on, taking the Jinx on the up roll, rahter than coming down.

"That makes sense. Get the fun stuff out of the way first. Do it while the tires are just getting warm, and easy to push the car."

Less than half a mile past the Boars Hole the first curve, a swing to the south then back north as one tops a small rise, the first of many to come as they began to climb the mountain. The curve was gentle taking the grade in a semi U that covered nearly a half a mile over all. Then a relatively straight run of a mile and a half up a long rising ridgeline along the flank of the mountain..

Then the introduction of the mountain was over and the Jinx began with a tight switch back and back again that were far tighter than ninety degree turns, they were what remained if the Deadly Pins, two tight, poorly banked turns that nature had created and man had been unable, or unwilling to alter. The terrain continued to rise, and on the map resembled an M, with a true hairpin curve switch backing up the mountain. It was here that Danny had intended to set his trap, The” bottom” of the hair pin had a drop that was over fifty feet before air met the stony teeth of the mountain..

and Jonni had Midnight Blue screaming along at heart stopping speeds - she had run the Jinx so often she knew the bends, banks, and turns by heart, though she never took her attention off of the road. She respected the Mountain and fate too much. The look of satisfaction on her face was one that any man would have been proud to put there.

Running up to the Nose and then above that the Pompadour, more sections of road notorious for the rock and timber falls that often blocked both lanes – for though it received federal funds, and thus had the designation of Interstate, 421 was one lane either way …

Above the Pompadour there was The Seven, seven sharp curves in a stretch barely twenty one hundred feet long that ended in another hairpin turn that was where the highway headed rough north- north east then reversed and headed south- south west to the ridge that formed the crest of the mountain, but even at that it wasn’t a straight run as the roads gave one a series of deceptive wiggles.

Cresting the mountain gave one an eagles eye view stretching down to Shady Valley some three miles down from the mountains top. Not was this stretch any safer, for it was still part of the Jinx….

"Now for the rest of the Jinx, you can see where the dangerous sections are, even as dim as it is tonight."

Dom hadn't expected this fight to go well, but aside from the bloody nose and the possibility of a few cracked ribs, it was going better than he'd thought it would. Rednecks through and through, these bastards could take a beating...

At least until Dom caught hold of a punch, locking out the elbow to elevate the arm out of the way of a few punishing roundhouse kicks to the ribs before stepping in closer to leverage the shoulder into bringing his victim's head closer to the floor before throwing two quick knees to the face followed with a downward elbow to the top of the skull. The asshole flattened against the floor, dizzy and coughing roughly. Dom didn't realize the mistake he was making by turning his back on an opponent that was down but not out.

With his pool-playing friend occupying himself with the third, that left one standing for Dom, who flew at him from across the space between the latrines and the pool area. Deflecting two of a vicious three-punch hay-maker combo, he caught the third blow across his right shoulder, shooting in for a clinch and a quick end to the brawl. Wrapping his hands around the base of his opponent's skull and bracing his arms against his shoulders, Dom landed a thundering knee lift to the sternum, then to the face before releasing his clinch to put an elbow across the temple of the rising backwoods bastard.

His right elbow stung something awful after that strike, the fucker had a pretty hard head. The elbow seemed to have done its job, however, as the man staggered backwards before finally sitting down heavily on the dirty wooden floor with a thick stream of blood running out of his nose, or mouth, Dom wasn't exactly sure, not that it mattered.

Something caught him from behind, right at the base of his back. The pool cue snapped in half after the impact. Thankfully, the dumb-ass had used the thin end. By the time Dom got into a position to defend himself, the heavier end of the cue impacted with his neck on the left side, right at the intersection to the shoulder, which nearly floored him. It hurt like a bitch, a really big bitch.

He ducked the third swing, coming up with an uppercut from the floor that connected with the man's bearded chin and sent his head snapping backwards with all of Dom's weight behind the punch. His heels left the floor slightly, but he didn't fall. Not wanting to waste his momentum, Dom spun into a back elbow that landed across the face, and ended with a colossal straight-punch to the nose. He'd be spitting teeth after that one.

Dom wiggled his fingers, making sure he hadn't broken any of them, or his knuckles, which were beginning to bleed. Aside from the fact that he'd skinned them pretty well, everything worked fine. His back and ribs ached, however, and with the adrenal rush leaving his system, his nose was beginning to sting. With blood dripping onto his once-clean white t-shirt, he decided now would be a good time to get his gun back...

Frankly, I've seen fat-assed blacks with better balance than you."

And that was about the last comment one should ever make to a upstanding, staunch member of the Aryan Brotherhood, at least if one wanted to end the night up alive. The staunch and upstanding member turned a brilliant red, and made strange noises, a cross between the gobblings of a turkey and the grunting epithets of a boar hog in a fenzy. Not a bit of it ws intelligible.

However the charge might have been inevitable, but he wa still canny, and agile enough to follow Sam's side step. His beefy arms closed in a titanic bear hug about Sam, seeking to crush the wind from him.

"Now for the rest of the Jinx, you can see where the dangerous sections are, even as dim as it is tonight."

Where 421 crested the mountain there was a bit of a pull over and as I spoke I braked hard and slid onto the gravel shoulder, pulling up so we could take a look. The trees were bare in the winter cold, and the clouds had enough holes in them to let some of the moons equally cold radience through. The twisting road running down shown aa a silver ribbon, a ribbon that was highlighted as two sets of headlights raced down the winding, brake lights flareing an intermittent, fitful red.

"What the shit?" Jonni Leas's tone was sharp. "Those idiots are moving much too fast and DAMN!" She exclaimed as, miniature in the distance, taillights and chasing headlights merged for a moment.

'Is that some one trying to cause a crash?" She scrabbled for her CB tucked under the dash.

Ivan knew he was pushing the member of the Brotherhood's buttons and was rewarded almost exactly like he'd expect. The only part he hadn't predicted was the thug was more agile than expected.

Getting slammed in a bearhug and subsequently knocked to the ground was most unpleasent as he bit his tounge sufficiant to draw blood, but he still maintained the presence of mind to deal with the situation.

He did two things, slamming a knee up into the man's groin while at the same time crunching his neck in to deliver a headbutt to the man's jaw.

The thug bellowed in pain as Sam connected with first his balls and then with his larnyx. He bit down on his own tongue and the bellow became a roar and he doubled up and released Sam abruptly.

He rolled away rising to his knees, his hands going to cup the crotch of his jeans, as most of the fight went out of him.

Ivan rolled away from the ABer and onto his feet, swallowing the blood that had gathered in his mouth. "How about you take your friends where you can be clumsy somewhere where there's less to hurt yourselves on." He commented as he decided to let the guy off the hook so to speak by the mutual BS of simple clumsiness.

Gravel crunched softly outside of the old Pontiac GTO, a glossy black shark in a pond-sized grouping of lesser vehicles, at least now that 'Midnight Blue' had vacated the area. The windows were similar in hue to the paint-job, tinted to keep prying eyes out of the owner's back seat, where he did most of his business. If one were to look close enough, one would see the steel screens on the rear windows beneath the black tint.

On this occasion, the driver wasn't the only occupant of the vehicle...

"Why the fuck did you have to go an' disturb me at this time a' night? I was gonna pay ya tomorrow, ya know I'm good for it..."

The driver, a man in his middle thirties with beginning-to-gray black hair, kept his eyes forward after throwing a glance at his passenger behind the steel-reinforced plexi-glass screen through the rear-view mirror...

"Anybody ever tell you that you outta be a moive star?"

His question caught the man in back off guard, wondering where his captor was heading with this as he circled the parking lot...

"Why's that, man?"

The passenger wasn't able to catch the slight grin that spread across the driver's face...

"Yeah, we outta take you in for a screen test before we head to the lock-up..."

He had baited this one perfectly...

"You'd do that for me?"

Almost time for the punch-line...

"How about right now?"

The driver shrugged...

"Sure."

He slammed on the brakes, sending the passenger flying forwards into the battered screen divider, leaving the bloody star-burst pattern of a broken nose on the foggy plastic. He didn't laugh out loud, but inside he was howling...

"Enjoy your screen test, Jake?"

Jake didn't reply, he quietly attempted to right himself in the seat. Now he knew why the bastard had taken the seat-belts out. The driver turned around as best he could, his cold brown gaze latching onto his captive's like steel claws...

"When I put you in the back and tell you to shut the fuck up, I mean it asshole..."

The tone matched the ferocity of the gaze, but the volume didn't change. He turned towards the windshield again, stepping on the gas pedal a bit to get going again. The engine growled slightly as it pulled the vehicle forward, the wheels directing it into an empty parking space beside a rusty pick-up truck. The driver exited the vehicle, sticking his graying head back into the car to say good-bye to the other occupant...

"No funny shit. I catch you leaving this thing, I blow your fucking head off. Am I clear?"

Jake, still woozy from his screen test, nodded lazily. He didn't have much desire to argue, or watch any Hollywood movies for that matter either...

"Good. I'll be back when I get back..."

The back window read 'ST. CROIX BAIL BONDS' in broad white letters, visible even in the darkness of the Tennessee night. While the owner of the car also owned a bail bond agency, it was based in New York. It was financial need that placed him in Johnson County, nothing more. Tonight was freelance work for a local operation out of Nashville, a city in which his next pick-up for the night had gotten himself into some trouble during his last visit.

The 'Boar's Hole' (St. Croix believed the title 'Ass Hole' would have been better, the place certainly smelled of it...), was a frequent hang-out for his target, a man by the name of Earl Welch. St. Croix produced a folded piece of paper from his right pants pocket, which had the name, description, and mug shot of Mr. Earl Welch printed on it via computer. Welch was overdue for a payment by three months, and had a rap sheet including hate crimes, assault, and illegal possession of a firearm. He also seemed to have family in the Johnson County area, particularly in the local law enforcement.

Jerico, the first name of the owner of St. Croix's Bail Bonds, was dressed for tactical action rather than a night at the watering hole. A black T-shirt read 'BAIL ENFORCEMENT AGENT' across both front and back, and his badge was dangling from his neck on a chain. Black fatigues were bloused into a pair of well-worn combat boots, and a lower-back holster held a Springfield M1911A1 .45 automatic, stainless steel with ebony grips inlaid with the word 'RANGER' in gold. The same word was tattooed down the inside of his right forearm in an old English-style font. One would guess that he was formerly a US Army Ranger.

The black leather belt also contained a pair of handcuff cases, a pepper-spray can, and two double magazine pouches, as well as the holster itself, all in matching black leather. The holster was a custom design by Bianchi, while the rest had been bought out of a law enforcement catalog.

With his usual disregard for door durability, Jerico harshly shoved open the front doors to the Boar's Hole, walking calmly within, past the beat-up rednecks , through the stink of old piss and vomit, and up to the bar. The paper with Earl's face on it came out again, and slid across the bar to the man behind it...

"He been in here?"

The fight had ended, for the nonce, and quiet had fallen across the bar, a quiet that was broken by the slamming of the front door. Not that the front door wasn't slammed more often than allowed to drift closed, but in the sudden cessation of hostilities it banged with unwonted authority, and most of the Boars Hole's patrons jumped. And every eye in the place followed the stranger as he bulled his way through to the bar, taking in every nauance of his appearance...

bore the words in white block letter 'BAIL ENFORCEMENT AGENT' ons both front and rear. A badge dangled about hid neck on a steel breakaway chain. Black fatigues bloused to a pair of pair of well-worn combat boots, and a black leather pancake holster held a Springfield M1911A1 .45. Stainless steel with custom ebony wood grips, 'RANGER' inlaid in gold. Tattooed down the inside of his right forearm , was the same word but done in an old English-style font. The belt that wraped a trim waist, also held a pair of cuff cases, a pepper-spray can holster, and a pair of double magazine pouches, all done in matching black leather[/COLOR]

More than a few eyebrows went up, and the three Aryan Brother hood thugs looked about for their boss...and couldn't find him.

"He been in here?"

Bub's eyes went wide as he took in the latest stranger to stride through the Boars Hole's doors tonight. At least this 'un ain't hiding what he is he thought as his eyes darted to where Earl had last been sitting. And they went even wider as he found the table empty.

He looked back at the bounty hunter and smiled widely. "Never seen him before in my life."

My eyes try to open, but I can't see through the red. I open my mouth to scream, but blood rushes into my mouth and I gag. I can't breath. My nose is filled with blood. I flail my hands, coherent thought lost to blind panic. I can't breath...

I black out, and my eyes snap open. My fighting knife is in my hand and I am rising out of bed, my muscles uncoiling like a striking cobra. Then I catch myself and turn what would have been a killing stroke into a fall, tossing the knife clear as I do -- I couldn't pull a lunge like that with any control, y'see. The knife buries itself halfway to the hilt in the flimsy wallboard, and I hit the ground hard on my stomach.

I see flickering colors for a few seconds before I pull myself up onto my knees. I don't try to rise any further, my head is still swimming. I can't hear anything and it feels like my innards have turned to scrambled eggs.

I feel arms around my shoulders, pulling me upwards. I let them assist me to my feet and then over to the bed, then sit down. I would collapse if it weren't for the arms holding me straight. I hear Dana's voice...

"Bad dreams again?"

I nod limply, my head slumping forward and I can't make it pull back. This is the worst its ever been. The dream started after I found the entire population of a village of eight hundred dead, all exsanguinated into the village chief's swimming pool...and the women and children left to float in a pool of blood.

Tears are streaking down my cheeks, and I'm shaking, but my voice is perfectly level. I haven't shown real emotion through my voice for a long time.

"Yeah."

We sit like that for almost a half an hour, until it finally passes. I thank Dana and rise, pulling on my jacket. I hadn't taken off my clothes to nap. I head outside, and the wind is cool against my skin. I breathe deeply.

I'm thinking about dead children and women, and I feel the first embers spark to life. I hate my species with a brutal passion. Only humanity is capable of such cruelty to members of its own species.

After a few minutes of philosophical bitching, I storm back into the small building and pull my Applegate-Fairbairn out of the wall, replacing it in its boot sheath. Then I'm gone.

Right now, I really, really want to kill somebody. With my own two hands, if possible. Maybe with the knife. I wanted to be able to smile as I killed them, then shove their body onto a damned stake. It was how I got my name. Shrike.

I've always been a big fan of the Mongols. They had the concept of "peacekeeping" down pat. First you kill everybody who pisses you off, then you kill everybody related to them, then you kill anybody you feel like killing, and once they're all dead, you go through and kill some more people, just on the offchance that you missed a few.

Then you call that peace.

It works. The idea is to make the fucking wogs more scared of you than they are of whoever or whatever they're fighting for. To make them believe that there is a fate worse than death, and you are it.

Then my radio bleeped at my. Not my cell, both of those were in the Stealth, but the smaller radio I kept in my pocket...

I fished out and ticked in.

"Shrike. Talk."

"Vern. We've got one of your marks off on a little road trip. We've got ground elements trailing, but they're idiots, as you'd expect, and doing well to just stay on the road. Christ."

I shake my head, "Watch your fucking language, Vernon. The term is suspect. We're not headhunting."

I hear a muted laugh over the radio. I reply in kind.

"Alright, alright. So we're headhunting."

Lance Vernon is an ex-Coast Guard chopper pilot. He's as good on land as he is over water. While I'm giving the helo driver a mental pat on the back, I'm running to my car.

I throw the Stealth into gear and head out. Once I'm safely up in the 70s, I let my knees take over and reach around back to grab the MP5SD2 that is laying behind the driver's seat. I had it out to clean it and hadn't put it back in the locker yet. I put about twice as much maintenance into the german SMG than I do into any of my other guns.

Probably because the Mossberg and the Accuracy International were both famously rugged weapons.

I fire off a quick prayer as I lean around and pull the rear seat forward, fetching out a few mags of 9mm ball as I do, then my eyes are back on the road. I shove the clips into the small jumpbag resting in the passenger's footwell, then check that the SD's torsion strap is connected properly.

I'm a good driver...out in the wilderness. Like this. My city driving is also good, but not when I have to worry about laws. I can drive most things, ranging from mo-peds to mobile tactical nuclear missile erector/launchers, which are a lot like driving a large military truck, just with the knowledge that you have a multi kiloton nuclear warhead sitting a few yards behind you.

Of all the shit I've driven, the Stealth is one of the sweetest. It has a magnificent combination of maneuverability from the all-wheel drive and power from the twin-turbocharged V6...yes, it is a bit heavy, but it has the muscle to compensate.

It isn't custom anything, but it serves for what I need. If I have to chase down a crazy-ass custom-rod racer-type, I can get a helicopter and a sniper rifle and see how the bastard likes it when I put a few rounds through his aluminum, and likely into him...

I don't care how fast your car is, you aren't going to outrace a bullet.

For that matter, Lance Vernon's co-pilot/crew chief/photographer/whatever had a 10 gauge pump up in the chopper that did a beautiful number on a vehicle's engine block. Also did a beautiful number on your shoulder, but that was irrelevant. You just needed to get one good hit. Of course, if you missed the first shot...things got to be a bit painful.

I plug the headset into the radio and I hear Lance Vernon's voice in my ears.

"Ahh, poor motherfuckers better watch out. Shrike's on the loose!"

I make a decision to never explain exactly how I got the nickname "Shrike" to my co-workers. Of course, it was extremely obvious if one knew what a shrike was.

Shrikes, you see, were characterized by the activity of impaling prey creatures on thorns for later use. I got the nickname for my practice of impaling bastards on pikes as an example.

You see, at heart, I'm downright medieval. What worked for Ghengis Khan still works today. Make a desert and call it peace.

There's one difference between me and a nuclear bomb. With a nuke, people might survive for a few years before they die of cancer. With me, they have no such luck.

I inherited that little bit of cockassery from Captain Damm. When applied to him, it was actually true. I'm nowhere near as good as he was. I'm still convinced that given the time, he could have killed every single human being on the damn planet.

Dana and I had left Virginia Highlands for somewhere closer to Mountain City, and no, I ain't tellin' where. That'd be an issue of national security, and seeing as the guy who they send out to deal with people who breech national security is a drinking buddy of mine, I'm not going to make Mike get out of bed on my account. Mike scares the piss out of me, to be honest.

Anyways, I'm going west on 421 at about half of the speed of light, and Lance Vernon is talking me through my catch-up.

"Alright, Boss, I can see you now. You're closing in on 'em. Jesus, Boss, where'd you learn to drive like that?"

I smile wryly and vocalize a little laugh. "Just about every shithole on the planet. But this car makes it easy. The all-wheel drive is slick as can be."

"Whatever you say, Shrikeman. Anyways, there's a bit of odditude up here. You should be passing one of our chase cars...now."

I blur past a slate gray four-door of the type that was only driven by feds and undercover cops. It makes me want to cry. I am barely able to refrain from screaming "FOR GODS SAKE, MAN! GET YOURSELF A MINIVAN OR SOMETHING!"

Instead, I talk calmly into the headset microphone. "I see him."

I pass the four-door with ease, amazingly not even entertaining the thought of "accidentally" fanning the side of the sedan with the MP5 as I pass by.

Seriously. The thought never crossed my mind.

I feel my mind slip into that particular state that only occurs when I'm closing on a kill, and I have to brace my hands against the wheel and slam the side of my head into the window.

I'm too likely to actually kill somebody when I get all "Killer Mentality." Then I hear Vernon's voice in my ear.

"The Suspect has pulled off the road. There is some jackassery going on, suspect not involved. Tell me something, boss? Why do people act crazy on this road? I'm scared of it, and I'm in a fucking helicopter!"

I grin and hit the accelerator.

"I don't know about other people, Vern...but I do it so that somebody else doesn't have to. I've got a damn big vanguard in Valhalla as it stands, and I've only ever had one thing to live for."

Danger, as usual, makes me wax emotional.

"There are only two things worth living for, my friend. Love, and spiting the other guy. I've never known love, Vern. But I sure do fucking love pissing people off."

I can see lights ahead, and I shove the HK into the passenger's seat. I haven't got time for it right now, and the Stealth is a manual. Shooting while driving a manual is a feat only accomplishable in movies, unless you're really good at driving with your knees...which I am, but even I can't pull that shit in a serious chase.

I'm snarling because I can't make out what's going on. I can see what I -think- must be the suspect's vehicle, pulled off the side of the road, and I'm shedding speed like my balls were on fire, but I can't see what's going on off in the distance worth a damn. It looks like a few fireflies having an orgy.

I shove my right knee up to brace the wheel and my hand flashes into my jacket to check the Smith in its shoulder holster. I don't like the shoulder rig much, but it's the only concealable rig worth a damn. Small-of-the-back rigs are good for blowing holes through your own pelvis and little else.

I note that the mating fireflies are now really going at it and slam on the brakes, bringing the firestorm red Dodge Stealth, immediately recognizeable to yer average import guy as "the re-badged Mitsubishi 3000GT VR4 thingy." Minor cosmetic changes, of course. Meaning that it looks a whole lot nicer than the Mitsu, anyways, bringing the Stealth to a stop at a slight angle, partially onto the shoulder in front of and to the side of the quite easily recognizeable blue Challenger identified earlier.

"Check and Mate."

I snort, "Hardly, Vern. You don't get checkmate by threatening the Queen piece."

"Whatever. And what kind of sick bastards names a girl Jonni, anyways? You can add an I on the end of it all you want, but it's STILL phonetically a boys name. Would it have been THAT hard to make it Joan?"

I laugh as I grab the maglight from the rear passenger's side "footspace," which was just -barely- big enough to hold a maglight. Then I hit the door release and step out of the car, leaving the engine running.

I shine the maglight through the windshield at the Driver, and tip my Stetson in mock greeting. Then I raise my voice and hope it carries, which it ought to.

"NOW THEN! Ms. Pettimore! If you'd be so kind as to kill the engine, we could be avoiding my friend in the helicopter that hasn't been following you around for quite some time now having to put a ten gauge slug through the aforementioned engine, and I think that we'd both prefer that, no?"

Did I ever mention that I hung the last desk-warmer who thought he was my "supervisor" from the ceiling of his office by his suspender, and sat there and watched him for six hours? There is no law for a man who doesn't exist.

The maglight is in my left hand, and my right is near the Smith's holster, which is now cleared and ready to be drawn.

"Oh, and kindly don't try anything stupid. I don't much like killing women, but I've done it more times than I've had birthdays...many...more times...and your friend there wouldn't bother me at all. Kill the engine, lets talk nice. Otherwise we can kill the engine, we can kill you, and we can kill your friend there. Then we can keep on killing people 'till I'm satisfied that my aims have been met."

I grin, then, almost wishing she'd make a run for it. It'd be interesting to see whether I could shoot out a tire before Vern's copilot blasted the engine with the ten gauge. Either way, more likely than not there wouldn't be anything left to talk to, which would be a damn shame.

But that is what things ended up being when I get involved.

"Breaker, Nine, this is JLP, out atop the mountain, we have a fly over* I keyed the mike and raised the Mountain City volunteer fire department

*"Jonni, this is Chief Ronson, where?"* Came the startled reply.

*"Last Man Standing"*" And he'd know exactly where I meant.

"I'll landline Shady Valley volunteer and get the rig rolling"* Came the reply and we signed off...

just as some one shone a freaking big maglite throught Midnight Blue's windshield, and started yakking. Damned if it wasn't the odd vibe stranger from the Boars Hole earlier.

"Oh, and kindly don't try anything stupid. I don't much like killing women, but I've done it more times than I've had birthdays...many...more times...and your friend there wouldn't bother me at all. Kill the engine, lets talk nice. Otherwise we can kill the engine, we can kill you, and we can kill your friend there. Then we can keep on killing people 'till I'm satisfied that my aims have been met."


The window went down, and no, I didn't kill the engine. "Like hell, I'm EMT with Mountain City VFD and I'm needed down there. Some ones gone over."

I didn't bother to threaten the man with the hell I'd unleash upon him if he held me up from saving a life. The reverse on Blue works just fine and I was backing out and spinning round his Stealth with an economy of motion that was what was required for the narrow road.

"You want to talk to me, you come along and help!" I yelled out to the ass. He had to be some sort of Fed, but right now I didn't care if he was god.

Fire bloomed on the lower mountain, a mile away and I didn't have time for his shit. I drove like a life depended on it, and it wasn't mine.

I didn't need to tell David to hang on as I brought the Blue up to speed, racing time and death.

"David" my voice was tight "Pull the phone outta my purse speed dail 2 and tell who ever answers whats going on." It would be Johnny Lee or Nathan.

David braced himself in the bestway possible, pushing his feet hard forward against the floorboard. He never believed in the 'oh shit' handle as they were known, if his hand got locked in durring a crash, it would only make life harder. He watched the two downroad cars swerve, but before he could comment, Jonni was stopping the car, pulled over by someone in another DSM. Technically. In reality, the only real DSMs were the ones badged Eclipse, and the shoddy rip off Talons, but the term was usually extended to the 3000GT/Stealths as well, and his own Galant, even though it had no Dodge counterpart.

The officer made some comment about killing, and at that point, he knew the guy was no cop. Definately a Fed, and one without rules. The only thing worse than a pig with a badge was a fed with no rules.

He would remeber the DSM if it ever came into the shop. The 3000GT/Stealths were notoriously hard to work on, Mitsubishi had takced on with the 300ZX idea of taking the biggest engine size wise and shoving it into a small engine bay. That, and the twin turbo'd V6 was no where near as reliable as it's Toyota or Nissan counterparts. Hell, even it's kissing cousin, the 4G63 was more reliable.

And we can kill your friend there

David took personal offense to this line, and made a mental note to make the fucker cry before he died. The tools used on cars could do interesting things to the human body. That, or he could just force some water into the intake system on the DSM. See him chase with a few pistons in low earth orbit.

He didn't say a thing, didn't make a gesture, but found himself tensing as Jonni swug the car around towards the accident. When the Challenger was in full trot, he looked back at the Stealth and shook his head. "Ass," he commented under his breath, chuckling at the Fed who had to act like a bad ass just to compinsate somewhere else.

He followed Jonni's instructions, yanked out a grey brick like object, and mashed 2 and send. A few moments later, a gruff male voice answered, and David quickly and calmly relayed the information.

"Okay David, you just tell Jonni Lea to hang on and we'll be there with bells on. Keep her from doing anything stupid. Any one tries to keep her from what she feels she needs to do generally gets run over with a mac truck, but do your best and I'll owe you a big one." Johnny Lee replied and hung up.

He'd been appraising Dom and his fighting skills, but had no intent of approaching him. The arrival of a bounty hunter had him grinning to himself, wondering who'd gotten themselves in trouble this time. However some sort of Fed trying to pull Jonni Lea over...

"Mount up boys. There's a problem out on 421." He didn't have to raise his voice much but it carried across the bar. Around the bar men threw back a last gulp and stood, heading out to follow Johnny Lee and Nathan.

Ivan looked over at his pool partner and gave him an apologetic shrug, as if to say 'sorry about the gun and the game, maybe we can restart it later' as he headed out after Johnny Lee and Nathan.

He'd been wondering who or, in the case of some people, what the Bail Bondsman had been looking for but put that aside as he headed out with the ABers and Dom's weapons in his pockets. The thugs had been thrashed sufficiantly that they'd likely not pick another fight.

He caught a ride with one of the locals who'd brought thier vehicle as his clunker was sitting at home rather than in the parking lot. He hadn't expected to need it and had thus walked to the Boar's Hole.

David hit the end button, and 'pursed' the phone. He turned and looked at Lea, driving like a woman possesed. If it were even possible, it only made her more attractive. He continued to brace himself up in the seat. It was funny to David how, when driving fast, it seems like nothing, yet when riding shotgun, the feeling of a lack of control takes over.

"Johnny Lee said not to do anything stupid, and that he and the boys will be here shortly with bells." He looked off into the quickly closing gap between themsleves and the accident, hoping that who ever went down was ok. "Listen, I don't know anything beyond basic apply pressure where the bullet hole is and wait till medivac, so just tell me what to do when we get down there."

So I'm standing there eating dust. And gravel. It hurts like a bastard. Kinda like getting hit with buckshot. Just less death and more pain. If I hadn't immediately thrown up my arm, I'd be truly screwed over.

Alright, so I'm a fucking idiot. I slump back against the side of the Stealth and let my tear ducts run my eyes clear. Meanwhile, I'm spitting dust out onto the ground, trying to get a word in.

Finally, my voice starts working again. I slam my thumb down onto the radio's belt unit.

"Vector, Vector, Clear line and go scramble..."

Yeah, so I'm an ass and I'm not using civilian commo gear.

I hear a hiss in my ear, then static. I tap a quick code into the keypad on the belt unit, then things clear up.

"Alright, Verny. I just screwed up so bad I think I'm fucking myself in the ass right now...it hurts. We are re-tasking as of now. You have IR gear, you saw the fucker crash. Get to it, Coast Guard boy."

I hear the twitter of the Super Cayuse as it swoops down from wherever it had been hovering, cutting a direct line, like some sort of swooping falcon. Shouldn't have been possible, but the OH-6A was a lot more agile than the lift helos that the Coast Guard used, and Vernon was using every bit of that agility...

I'm strongly considering drawing my pistol and shooting myself in the head. Because that is my second fuck up, and it probably wasn't recoverable...

I kill the radio and start swearing.

"Christ's Blood, Wes! This is AMERICA, YOU IDIOT! People aren't OPPRESSED here! You can't steamroll people right off the bat because they don't know SHIT about you. Now you've shot yourself in both feet..."

There is a reason: I haven't been in America for longer than a month since I joined the military, and then it was usually in recovery, one way or another. I don't know how to deal with people other than at the end of a gunbarrel.

I limply walk around the Stealth and slip into the driver's seat, letting the maglight drop back into the passenger's footwell. I have no idea how I managed to keep hold of it, but I did.

Then clarity flashes through the fog that hasn't left my head since, well, my last mission. I flinch away from memories of that, I can't deal with that now. Instead, my body brings the Stealth to life and I make a slick little reverse-turn that brings me back onto the highway, then drop the clutch and shift into first, then proceed, blah-dee-blah, yay, I can drive.

I can feel the car snarl around me, the stresses in the engine. There are faster, better cars in the world, but the Stealth...suited. Besides, I knew a guy who owned a Dodge dealership from before. It worked.

I haven't got a hope in hell, really, of catching up. Ms. Pettimore knew where she was going, knew the road, obviously knew what she was doing. I was in no way a racer. I'm good, but I'm not -that- good.

I'm stressing and pushing myself to the limit of my skills, which isn't helping me, as I can't even see the damned Challenger's taillights on this damnable road. This isn't the first time I'm cursing myself for not getting something with a bit more actual clearance. But then I'd be likely to flip myself off this bloody mountain.

Which was a thought, but not one I wanted to entertain.

I'm hoping that Lance gets there in time, and I know the he will. I don't know that he'll be able to do anything, because his co-pilot sure-hell isn't trained in rescue ops, but I don't care. The point is that I hadn't even thought about what was going on in front of my eyes, I just...acted. Wrongly.

Besides. I wasn't here to arrest anybody. That much I knew. You didn't send somebody like me to arrest people. I'm aware that the HRT has been active for a time, now, and I remember, vaguely, Dana saying that she'd received calls from HRT guys asking where I was...

Asking why I wasn't in Idaho.

I can't let myself distracted. My eyes flick about, and I ease into the accelerator a bit more, watching the speedometer rise. I let myself fall halfway into Alpha, take things as they come. I can do this. Not as well as yon Farmer's Daughter, but I can still hang.

I'm analyzing my screw-up as I drive, and I note expressions. Disgust from her, and righteous anger. The guy in the passenger's seat had looked right through me at the Stealth before he even bothered looking at me.

Then I knew where I'd seen the expressions before. Pig. Tool. G-man.

I'm an idiot.

I had mentally identified the concept of "federal agent" with the government police of various third world shitholes that I'd worked in, and the expression that went with that was entirely different. Stazi. Gestapo. Cheka. The Second Chief Directorate of the KGB. State Security.

I'd associated the concept with images of fear. That was stupid. These people didn't fear the government, else they wouldn't be doing what they did. Well...well...well.

I pop open the center console and take out a small box, resting it on my knee. I let the latch go, moving fast, then I snatch the pendant out of the box and let it fall, my hand going to the stick just in time...I feel the pendant cut into the flesh of my hand, but I ignore the pain.

After I've completed the basic maneuver, I let my hand drift away from the stick for a few moments, and I turn it over and look at the pendant I'm holding. Blood seeps out of the slight cuts in my hand, coloring the simple steel a reddish color that is ever so familiar.

I blink my eyes hard, my hand closing around the pendant, gently. I'm not a damned masochist...

The tears don't bother me much, I still manage to keep driving. I pocket the pendant, murmuring a few words...

THen I'm fully aware and what have you, and I can see headlights in front of me. Probably, most likely, because I've reached the scene. Maybe. I don't know. I slow the Stealth down a bit. I'm finding that maybe I haven't lost all my humanity.

God Willing, anyways.

I scan the scene before I get out of the car, my hand not -exactly- reaching for the MP5SD2 in the passenger's seat. Probably because I was reaching for the small first aid kit strapped to the -back- of that seat. Not that it'd help...

I was -technically- a trauma medic, in the sense that I knew what I was doing...when the 'trauma' in question was a gunshot or stab wound, or poison, or something along those lines. And I was good with a knife.

I peer out over the headlights, trying to get a general idea of what I was looking at, and my ears pick up the telltale whacka-whacka of the helo nearby...I wince.

I know just where the car had gone over - the most visable spot of badness on the far side of the mountain, and I'm taking Blue throught the two bad turns before it dangerously fast but I also knew that if I'd been able to I would have taken them even faster. Wheels scream in protest as I nod, a bare head jerk at David's comment of how limited his medic abilities were.

"Okay you are here and thats even better." Now I'm braking savagely barely more than a minute into the race against death. "Pop the trunk" I get out as the Challengers' nose dives in the final braking and I'm slamming the door open even before Blue finally stops. "Get behind the wheel, turn the tires sharp, set the emergency, and hold him there, I'v got a power winch in the trunk, I'm going to have to rappell over the side."

It wasn't exactly what I'd be doing but close enough. The trunk lid is up and I'm flipping the switch that brings the winch's motor to life, powered by an extra battery fitted into the trunk, but leave it in idle. The next thing I grab is the med kit that is disguised as a back pack and side on the pair of gloves on top. As I'm sliding them on I can sense David doing as I had asked, the car settleing in to the gravel of the tiny shoulder. Where the damned useless guard rail had been torn away.

Then I'm tossing the end of the cable over the side, spinning the reel and lefting it run. The drop wasn't much, maybe twenty feet to the first level off, but I knew that the car that had gone over had been moving fast enought to make it out to the second.

The thump wump of a helo over head had me glancing up for the barest second. "David, if the wheels are locked, you can help by grabbing the extra gear and following me!" I call out as I go backwards over the edge, knowing I was doing it against all proceedure.

Fire, down below casts eerie shadows above, but I can tell that the gas tank hasn't gone yet. I may still win the race.

Jerico, in no mood for bullshit, and this being his last pick-up for the night, simply brought the badge up closer to the barkeeper's face, letting him see both his credentials, as well as a clearer picture of what his shirt said. The 'Enforcement Agent' part should have been enough.

He toyed with the idea of yanking the forty-five from his lower-back and displaying it on the bar-top, but that only worked in cinemas, and not in the sometimes too-real world. He'd talk real slow-like for this trailer-park Einstein...

"You know I can haul your ass in for 'Aiding and Abetting'? Seriously, this is my last snatch-and-grab of the night, I'm tired, and I've got some fucktard bleeding all over my back seat. My intel says this asshole comes here often, and three of those skin-head pieces of shit are sitting right over there, and Welch runs with them exclusively..."

St. Croix let a shred of rage creep into his voice, more for effect than any loss of personal control. This little dramatic pause would allow the information he'd presented to the lying sack of shit in front of him to sink in before he gave him options...

"Now we can do one of two things: You waste more of my time, and I waste you, or option two, you can tell me where you think this inbred backwoods cock-sucking kin-fucker went, and I can walk my happy ass on out of here. You want me to sing the Jeopardy theme, or are you a big boy and can figure simple shit like this out on your own?"

The holster featured a a thumb-break retention, as well as a slight cant to the right, so he could avoid blowing a piece of an ass-cheek off in the event the hammer somehow made its own way backwards and his finger got into the trigger guard before the sights were aligned. One could never be too careful, and St. Croix had learned that caution was his lifeblood in this sort of business...

"And where the fuck did everyone run off too?"

The bounty hunter made a mental note to never take freelance work in the sticks ever again. Then again, lawsuits were typically a lot less common down in those parts of the country. So far, his personal criminal record featured assault misdemeanors, and a couple of trespassing charges, all of which had been dismissed in a court of law, but for some reason they kept showing up whenever some dick-weed cop cadet ran his tags. He'd almost picked up a manslaughter charge after his warning shot hit some junkie bail-skipper in the face, but after the cops had found a couple of dirty needles on his dead ass, next to a shitty pawn-shop Rambo special survival knife, he'd been acquitted and sent on his unmerry way.

He'd been a cop at one time, up in New York, and while he wouldn't say why he left (or was asked to leave), his patience had declined sharply as a result. This sort of thing didn't help matters, and he really hoped he wouldn't have to shoot anyone tonight. He'd stolen a license plate off of some poor bastard at a rest stop, and replaced the one on his GTO with it to give him some lee-way from the law if things got nasty...

"And where the fuck did everyone run off too?"


Bub's face went cold, something it rarely did. He may have come back from Nam unable to handle lots of things, but shit from a "passing through", that he could. The sound of a shotgun being shucked as Sooki Stackhouse stepped around the corner from the ladies room with one in her hands made his stance relax a little. Back up always helped.

"Where you're headed, namely, out the door. And if you had been paying attention rather than running your yap you would have noticed. Now I might have been twitting you, but you can take your New York accent and arrogance right on out of here. Earl Welch isn't here, and not likely to be before closing."

Which was true, as far as it went, for Earl was not likely to be back once he'd gotten what he'd come to buy from Johnny Lee.

"How if you are tired from the long drive" Bub took pity on the obviously out of sorts ex military bounty hunter "Why don't you turn that "wanted dead or alive" that you have bleeding in your back seat over to the Mountain City jail for the night and check in the the Mountain Empire motel. The rooms are clean, and in the morning they serve a good breakfast at their coffeeswhop.

"Sam, you know how to work a wreckers controls?" Leroy asked as they wheeled out of the Boars Hole's parking lot the opposite direction of the rest of Johnny Lee's boys. Leroy was tall and rail thin with jug ears and a mostly gentle face. He ran the only wrecker in the area, and often didn't charge a cent for his work. Luckily his wife was the senior book keeper at the quarry, and that his twin daughters had scholarships to Georgia Tech.

'Cause I smacked my elbow something fierce earlier today and it's swollen up double. If we have to high lift the wreck out, who's ever at the levers is going to be doing a lot of stopping and starting." He said appologietically.

"Not sure." He replied, "But I can always do it, especially if you tell me what to do."

"Wouldn't want you to further mess up your arm after all."

David followed the instructions to the letter, making sure the handbrake was locked up, and the wheels would dig in and old. He wondered about a chuck, or block off for the wheels, but let it go as he slid out of the driver's seat. He had seen power winches hooked up to many things, but a Challenger wasn't one of them. He pushed that out of his mind as he jogged over to the cliffs edge, bent forward, and grabbed the rope, grabbing a second bag of medical supplies.

It had been a good long while since David had done anything like this, and even then, it had been out of a helicopter, not over a cliff. The lack of gloves was generally going to suck, but then again, and the bottom of the cliff face was a burning car, with a passenger inside. He had been trained to take lives, not save them, but then again, every little bit helped. With a deep breath, he turned, and allowed him self to slid over the edge.

His descent was slower than Jonni Lea's, as he had just skipped even looking for gloves, and his drop we less of a rapelle, and more of a controlled shimmy, using his feet to manage descent speed, his hands more there for ballance. He descend the first twentyish feet slowly, landing not to far behind Jonni. His hand's were already starting to hurt from the descent, the wire not all that forgiving.

The next drop was closer to thirty, but with the helo over head suddenly providing enought light to make a crime scene investigator happy I didn't care if they were the Feds. I was glad to see that David had followed me, I wouldn't have blamed him if he hadn't.

I glanced ovcer at thim and winced when I saw that he had no gloves. "David I've got half gloves in the top of my pack. I'm sorry!" I ripped them out and tossed them to him before I whirled about and picked up the line to make the next drop.

This was the really dangerous part, for this section was nearly vertical, and there were some pine trees...or rather there had been, but the car that had gone over had broken through them and now they lay against each other, the cliff face, or the ground. I stepped backwards into empty air, trusting the strength of my grip to keep it controlled. That was not the sanest thing to have done

The light from above was all that saved me, it allowed me to see and avoid one tree leaning againt the cliff but I still caught a long dagger like spike up my leg, as it tore though the jeans and into the calf muscle. I screamed briefly, but the adrenaline pumping though me didn't let it really register. The cold air made my ears tingle then burn as I finished the zip down.

My leg almost wouldn't hold me but I threw the cable aside and limped towards the beacon of fire. I was vaguely aware of the cable spooling down from the helo, and David following at as samer pace, but that didn't matter.

I recognised the vehicle that was battered, twisted about a thick boled oak like a broken backed snake, and mostly aflame. It was Hamburger Bill's blocky old Jeep Wagoneer, and I could see a figure slumped over the wheel, behind the blood splatter bubbling on the windshield.

Bill with three kids and a wife dieing of cancer. Bill who wouldn't have been out tonight if he hadn't needed the thousand dollars I'd slipped him back at the Boars Hole.

I think I shrieked - this is rather a blurr- and I was at the drivers side door, hands on the burning metal of the door handle. I braced one driving moccasin clad foot against the body of the vehicle, body bowing as I tried to force the door open useing all my strength. But the door wouldn't open.

David chased after Jonni, knewing that if she got hurt, it would be his hide. The sudden scream of pain jolted him, she had gotten hurt. Fuck. He saw the jeep, laying on the ground, sitting on its wheels. The orange and red flames licked at the night sky, and David went on instinct. He yanked on the gloves that Jonni had tossed to him, grabbed the wire, and with little thought of his own safety, he grabbed the coil, and threw himself over the edge.

His hard kick cleared him near fifteen feet the first rapelle. He checked down, angled himself to dodge a rather nasty looking branch, and gave another hard kick, finishing teh distance easily. He tossed the coil aside, his hands burning despite the gloves, and ran over to the Jeep. Jonni was pulling on the door, but the metal handle was to hot to hold, and he could see the door not budging.

With a gentle shove, he pushed her aside, and prepared to grab the door handle, but a glimpse inside told him to not waste his time. The driver was dead, there was no question about it, massive burns covered his body, most of his skin was melting off, chared black. The scent of burning hair nad flesh singed his own nostrils, he rembered the smell from Iraq, his platoon's gunner had cleared out a trench with a white phosporus grenade. It wasn't a smell one forgot easily. Instead, he made the choice to save the two save-able lives.

Jonni was trying for the door again, but David intercepted her. His left arm went around her abdomen, his right across her chest to pin her arms to her side to fight any resistance. He was easily able to lift her up off her feet, and with a quick motion, pulled her into a fireman carry over his shoulder. He knew it would be less than seconds till the fire reached the gas tank, and he didn't want to be close by when that happened. He began a run from the car, and he was a scant ten yards clear when it happened.

In most movies, when a car explodes, it fires up into the air, covers the area with flames, flips end over end, and causes a general mess. However, it happens much differently in real life. The spark had gotten to the gas tank, and with a loud 'whump', the fuel ignited. The jeep hardly lifted off the ground, instead flames just shot out from the undersideand hood, and shards of glass that hadn't melted in the fire shot out in all directions. The jeep stayed mostly intact.

David was hardly far enough off, and the concussion tossed him forward off his feet, loosing Jonni Lea in the process, and bring him down hard on his chest. He pushed himself up slowly, the air sucked out of his lungs, and pain wracking his body. There was nothing broken, that was a given, but many things hurt, and his arms had been covered with lacerations from glass flying from the explosion. However, he forced himself, albeit clumsily, to his feet, and moved over to Jonni Lea, hoping that her injuries were no more worse than his.

I'd tried to fight David when he grabbed me and wouldn't let me get to Bill, to save him. I knew, that is part of me- the sane cold part of me that I don't like very much, knew that he was dead before I ever got there, but guilt does funny things to one's perceptions.

Then I was gagging as David tossed me, as if I weighted nothing, over his shoulder and bolted away from the Waggoneer. My hands felt as if I had gripped a white hot poker, and in a way they had. Then a splayed blast of fire erupted from under the hood, buring gasoline going every which way, preceeded by shards of glass. The blast wave took David off his feet, hiting us like tsunami wave, spinning me off of his shoulder as the glass mostly caught my hair and shoulders. Fortuanately my jacket was sturdy olive drab denim.

I tumbled through the air and hit hard, landing with absolutely no grace whatsoever. My head hit hardest of all, and hard though it is, it wasn't harder than the rock it impacted with.

I blacked out.

I'm out of the car and running, pausing only to grab my jump bag out of the back seat, frantically pulling a pair of black gloves onto my hands. They aren't the right kind of gloves for what I'm about to do, but they're better 'n nothing.

I scream into my headset for a rope, not entirely sure if I'm vocalizing words or just screaming gibberish and thinking really hard. Whatever it is, the message gets through. The OH-6E comes in low and I see the co-pilot up out of his chair, rigging a rope.

The black line flicks down from the hovering helicopter and I jump up and snatch hold with one hand, hold myself in position, and wrap the rope a few times around that arm with my free hand and hold. The helicopter lifts up and heads over the drop...

It hurts like a bastard. I can't go totally slack or I'm going to loose my arm, and yeah, it's stupid...but this wasn't going to take long. I've got quite a bit of slack beneath me, and I'm looking down to try and spot where I want to drop.

Then the tank blows. It isn't a big explosion, but I'm hanging in the air from a moving helicopter by a single rope. It's something of a ride, and I'm not going to be too happy doing things with my left arm for a while.

I make my decision and let loose my hold, spinning down the rope for a bit. I don't go fast at first, but let my speed increase for a bit at the end. Either way, the thin gloves I'm wearing aren't going to survive this.

I fast rope down, not bothering with any fancy maneuvers, just grit my teeth and drop. The gloves, thin leather with some synthetics, hold well enough, but they're ruined by the time I release the rope and roll out of the impact. Clumsier than I am normally, but I'm out of practice. Fast-roping isn't something you do too often, but it something that is pretty damn hard to screw up. Which is nice.

I come out of my roll and rise to my feet in a deceptively smooth motion. The helo has risen up now, and the Vernon's co-pilot is playing a spotlight back and forth about the area.

I had glimpsed the activity as I was hanging from the rope, but I hadn't really thought about it. Now I did. Then I started moving, noting that Pettimore's guyfriend was moving.

Well, charitably moving. More like lurching. Probably closer to slurching, really. Whatever. In a perfect world, I'd be able to dig up Guyfriend's dossier, but I haven't exactly had the time.

"HEY! THREEPWOOD! YOU! GET THE FUCK ON THE GROUND AND LIE STILL! DON'T MOVE!"

I don't have time for fucking around, and I'm not pretending to be anybody right now. I'm full-out active, right now. More of a stress thing than a situational thing. That means that my command voice is in full-on effect, and just about anybody who'd ever signed up with Uncle Sam still had enough indoctrination to respond immediately to that.

I'm a pretty damned fast guy, but all my running training is endurance based, I don't generally spend a whole lot of time working on my sprint, but when I have to, I can go pretty damn fast on foot.

I pull off my gloves and shove them roughly into the tops of my boots, then open up my jump bag and pull out my kit.

I'm quite a ways from a trained medic, but perhaps the longest time I spent within the US while in the Army was taking the Air Force's Pararescue Recovery Specialist Course. It had some serious applications for hostage extraction, and that was where all the glory in my job was. Still is, really.

Anyways, I flip the kit open and slide on a pair of tight-fitting nitrile rubber gloves, thin, as is normal. First, I check for a pulse. Then breathing, which is generally, y'know, accompanied by a pulse. It is -kinda- wierd when you have one but not the other...like, vegetative state wierd.

Generally speaking there would be some form of response to my presence, so I pull out the small penlight and carefully check the pupils -- not for damage to the eye, but because I have to place an amount of pressure on the head.

Alrighty, this is what you'd call a bad, bad thing. Unconciousness means a concussion. The distance from the explosion was pretty good, and cars generally didn't explode too well unless they were prompted too, generally by the addition of copious amounts of other forms of explosive.

"You, my dear, are one crazy assed bitch."

I shake my head and check that the air pathway is clear, then rummage through my kit and come out with the splints. The cervical collar is a folding model, which isn't exactly ideal, but you aren't really going to fit a long board into a kit that I keep in my jumpbag.

A damned cervical collar is about my limit. But...

I snap into the headset "LANCE! LAND THE FUCKER!"

The OH-6E grounded in a fairly rapid manner, and I'm still screaming into the damned headset. The co-pilot, a guy who's name I finally remember was something like "Bartholomew Wilson" hopped down from the cabin carrying a long-spine board.

Hey, alright, remember the bit about pararescue? I'm not used to having support. Anyways, I slip the cervical collar on, proceed along with the full-body immobilization in the supine position as was ideal.

I grab out the notepad and scrawl hastily something to the extent of "concussion due to head injury, blast injuries, shrapnel, likely internal head injuries." then slip that under a strap and motion at Bart to get assist.

We lift the board together, and I don't even try to not yell at Bart every time he falters, but we make it and slide the straight-spine into the rear of the Super Cayuse. Bart goes in with the damn thing and I make sure that Vernon knows to wait.

Then I turn my attention to the Guyfriend.

I haven't even noticed if he's obeyed me or not, don't care. Either way, I give him a once over and load him into the helicopter. If he's got any serious impact injury, he's screwed. I'm all out of splints.

I think once about the cars parked up on the side of the highway, more or less, then decide to deal with that later and step up onto one of the Cayuse's runners, then up into the helo itself.

I shout up at Vernon,

"Get us headed to JCMC. They're not ASC accredited, as far as I know, and that worries me...but they say they're Level One...and I'll take them down personally if they don't back that up. MOVE!"

In the meantime, I'm glaring annoyedly at Guybrush.

"Your ladyfriend is an idiot." Then I pause. Blink.

"But not as big of a one as I am. Not nearly as big of a one as I am. There were two sets of lights. Tail lights and headlights. Where's the second car?"

I start talking into my headset, and sure enough, Bartie had some images shot with the spotlight playing over the commotion, but that'd have to wait for development. No live video, the intention had been for recon photos...

"We'll talk about this later. Get SARs out, let them do something useful for a change. Can't do anything for 'em ourselves, this damn thing isn't rigged for exterior lift and we're at capacity..."

Not a long flight, as the Super Cayuse was fucking fast as hell. The original OH-6A Cayuse had set speed records when it was first introduced, and the OH-6E had a considerably more powerful engine.

I finally sit myself down in one of the jump chairs and sigh.

"Anyways, my name's Wes Yoren, and I'm nobody of consequence."

I've always wanted to say that.

Jerico wasn't about to pack up and go home empty-handed. That simply wasn't in his nature...

"Can you at least tell me where this guy's house is? Like I said, this is the last one, then I head back up north..."

He wasn't too happy about the addition of a shotgun to the equation, and his own was in the trunk of his car, a synthetic 870 Express Magnum with a 5-shot tube and a simple gold-bead front sight. The kevlar vest in the trunk might also come in handy, although it was little more than decoration. It MIGHT stop a 9mm, but he didn't want to test that. Any short of shot (in the shotgun sense) would render the vest completely ineffective, as odds were he'd be missing half his face, even if the vest did catch most of the pellets...

"You, my dear, are one crazy assed bitch."

I'm conscious for a second, long enough to register a voice that I don't recognise, then the dark is whirlpooling me down again. Has the Mountain finally won? It's been trying all my life and it took my parents from me before I ever really knew them. I'm not afraid to lose to the Mountain, but damn it not yet.

There is another timeless section of dark and then pain jerks me to awareness, muddles, scrambled, disjointed. We, Sgt Jonni Lea and Bobby Lee, train out a helos now days. Our unit is experimental, more of a public relations effort than real military work, or so the brass asses say, but we don't care we're getting to save lives. Fort Drum's chopper wing was always happy to give us air time to practise getting into tight spots for SAR work. I must have dozed off, gettting sleep where I could, having been assigned the boring part of victim for this evolution. Sloppy work, gonna get a poor but the pain is real, not my often too vivid imagination.

My hands are in screaming torment, as if I was holding a white hot bar, my left calf is screaming but not as bad, and I can feel blood soaking through my uniform. My vision is decidedly doubled and blurry. I hurt in a lot of places.

"The helo musta crashed...Bobby Lee, where Bobby Lee?" I gasp out as I fade once again.

Time passes, though I'm certainly not aware of it....

Pain undeniable and insistant, the sound of a helo spooling up for lift and nausea sweeps over me, as I try opening my eyes. Not a good idea, and I keep my eyes closed. I swallow a couple of times, fighting the nausea. With the lessening of the nausea comes returning memory.

I think I'll take the nausea thank you.

Time does a sideways drift again and I slide into it like a car on black ice...

We're, though I am not sure who 'we' is at the moment, landing someplace. At least that's what the helo sounds like it's doing.

"Daniel Thomas Roscoe is a dead man." My vocie is very, very calm.

"Can you at least tell me where this guy's house is? Like I said, this is the last one, then I head back up north..."

Bub feels sorry for the guy. It's hard for one vet not to feel brotherly towards another, but three of Earl's brethern are still thre, bruised, battered, but still capable of hearing and reporting to Earl. And Johnny Lee and boys had just all piled out to handle some sort of trouble Bub was afraid to even think about.

However while he proclaims loudly that "Look I said get on outta here. I don't know who this guy is and I want you gone." His eyes slide very deliberately over to the trio and he makes sure that the bounty hunter catches his drift so to speak.

"Wouldn't want you to further mess up your arm after all."

"Thanks Sam. It's not really hard. Just listen close of the spotters directions and if he says "Hold" you do just that -stop the winch at once."

Leroy pulled into the parking lot where he parked the wrecker after dark - it was only a short distance away from the Boars Hole- about the same distance his small house was.

Once he and Sam were in the wrecker he made it put on a fair turn of speed, but he didn't manage to catch up with the rest of the group- the heavy old truck just couldn't take the Jinx like the cars the others were in could.

However he crested the ridge to see a helicpoters lights vanish south towards the Joshnson City. "Wonder how they got a chopper out here? They don't come up this way much, and it usually takes nearly an hour" He marvelled aloud.

Below, the where the Waggoneer had gone over, the first of Johnny Lee's people were brakeing and rushing from their cars to set out flares and to look for Jonni Lea, David, and who'd ever been driving the Stealth. They too had seen the helo vanish into the clouds, but hadn't arrived soon enough to see anything more.

"Sounds simple enought." He replied as they drove to the wrecker and from there up along the Jinx. He had never really liked the road as it either took a while to go anywhere on it or risk needing the service of the wrecker youself.

"Maybe that's what caused the accident, or part of an ambush for whoever came first to check on the accident." He commented as he followed the helicopter for a few seconds before returning to the road. Sure it was slightly paranoid but paranoia was part of his former job.

Your ladyfriend is an idiot.

"Well, we all do what we do." It wasn't exactly motivational or deep, but it was true.

David turned his observations away from the man, and glanced down at Jonni. She was blinking in and out, which, as far as David was concerned, was a good thing. It meant that everything inside was working, that just the outside was beat up. A minor fender bender, if not a touch more. With that cleared up, he settled himself into the seat on the helo, and watched as the ground flew by underneath them.

Anyways, my name's Wes Yoren, and I'm nobody of consequence.

David shrugged, a reply that, while not spoken, was akin to My name is David Kelly, and I really don't give two shits who the fuck you are. Instead, he observed the flight with only minor interest, glancing at Jonni Lea every few minutes. I heard her mutter something about helicopters, then something about a Roscoe something or other and death. He smiled inwardly, knowing that she would be just fine.

I'm screaming as the helo landed and Bart and I unass the Super Cayuse, carrying Miss Pettimore on the Long-spine board, seeing as we didn't have a real stretcher. It wasn't exactly ideal, as Bart was neither as strong nor as tall as I was.

Anyways, we got Miss Jonni Lea into the ER and I dug my badge folder out of the inner pocket of my jacket, it wasn't -quite- sewn into the lining, but it was -very- well hidden.

The badge inside, however, was nothing of the sort. Standard as you'd like. Special Agent Wesley Michael Yoren, Federal Bureau of Investigation.

I let my face go utterly expressionless, and my voice is steady and cold.

"There is an injured woman here. Why are you not responding, as is your duty under the law?"

As is practice, Jonni Lea would be rushed through the ER directly into the trauma center. I brief the doc-on-call.

"Concussion. Fading in and out of conciousness. Possibly contusion, the works. Also burns and shrapnel marks. Blast injuries."

Bart had gotten Guybrush in, and he would also be receiving emergency care, though of a more minor sort, as his injuries were comparatively minor.

I sit down in the waiting room, my badge returned to its internal pocket. I prefer to have it out of the way. It's a crutch that is all too tempting to use as a magic wand. I got where I got because of what I could do, not because I waved some badge or claimed some sort of authority that was centered in an ideal that was held only by the kind of people that I shouldn't be bothering in the first place.

I drop my head into my hands and sigh, thinking. If there was one thing that I'd learned, it was that in many cases, a criminal organization could become the source of order in a given region. In many cases, that organization was more beneficial than an official government.

In most cases, the crooks were less corrupt than the official government...

Anyways, philosophical thoughts aside, there is an issue that I can resolve. I'm slowly waking up from the idiot stupor that coming back from the field "for good" put me in, and I'm more than capable of putting two and two together.

Danny Roscoe, the sheriff's deputy who'd never called, was more than likely the individual behind that second pair of lights. There is, I might note, a special place in my hell of hearts for those who abuse authority.

My Smith 1079 has a barrel that is threaded to accept a suppressor. The suppressor is kept in a special sleeve on the shoulder holster. That isn't standard FBI issue. I'm not standard FBI.

I'm obviously thinking over Jonni Lea's mumblings during the helo flight. That, if nothing else, made me believe that she would live. She hadn't been unconcious for longer than a few minutes before the first fade-in.

I spend a few instants contemplating the identity of "Bobby Lee," and I don't know who or where he...or she, more than likely, is...

Whatever.

I pick up my cell and dial Dana.

"Dana, darlin'. I want you to send some of the suits out to stake likely locations that our errant deputy Roscoe would return to. He and I need to talk. I want to know where he is on a whim, clear?"

Then I lean back and plot. Perhaps something involving a stake. Yes. Stakes were good.

The ER was the last place David wanted to be. He hated hospitals, hated ERs, hated the general idiocy of taking all the sick people to the same place to get better. But he pushed the dislike aside, and allowed some doctor or medstudent or veternarian look him over. A few sprays of some sorta aniseptic, a quick bandage around his only major laceration, and he was out. The doc wanted him to stay, run a concussion check, but David had sustained more than his fair share of the head injuries in highschool, and instead simply checked himself out.

He signed the papers, and then found a waiting room, and slumped into a chair after grabbing a can of Pepsi out of a vending machine. He would wait for Jonni, making sure she was fine before he found a way back to his shop so he could collapse into bed, and sleep the past few hours of his life off.

Thirty minutes passed before any one came out to give them an update on Jonni Lea's condition, and that was only a doctor looking for her family for them to sign authorization for treament, and who when pressed hard reluctantly admitted that the initial prognosis and assessment looked good...

And elsewhere in the Johnson City / Northeast Retional Medical Center a past benificiary of a Johnny Lee 'special for a lady in need of self protection' gift, took a moment to call said providor and let him know that his 'lil sis' was there, and that she'd been brought in with a Fed and another man one David Kelley.

Shortly there after a dumpy little woman, tired from a long shift but still bustling along, came along and from the hall, so that David could see her but that the Fed could not waved to David to catch his attention.

David was slowly comming to the end of a second Pepsi when he saw the nurse. He glanced away for a moment, breifly making sure the Fed wouldn't follow, and then rose and moved over to her. Moments earlier, or maybe more, he couldn't really tell on the actuall amount of time, a doctor had said that Jonni was in decent condition, with a slight hint of "I really shouldn't say anything" in his voice. However, David, neither optimistic nor pesimistic, but realist, could tell that the doctor was just acting in a profesional maner, and that Jonni Lea would be fine.

He moved with no hint of his own injuries, he had lied to the doctor about an aching knee and ankle to get out of the ER faster, and hid his limp well. He let the can hang loosely from his finger tips, and he ran his free hand through his hair to brush it away from his face.

His voice was quiet, not wanting to draw attention, but then again, in any ER, who would? "Hows it going," he asked, hoping, and expecting, good news.

Hows it going,"

The chunky little nurse pulled him into a side room and made sure the door was closed. "She's conscious and it looks to be a moderate concussion, though the left side of her face is going to be one big bruise and her left eye is going to be swollen shut for awhile."

"She has a long tear in her left calf, with some muscle damamge, thats being stitched up - on crutches . But her hands -the left has second degree burns over most of her palm and inner side of her fingers, the right almost none save for the back of her hand and thats minor. She's gonna be kinda helpless for a couple of weeks." She waved away any concerns- to a trauma nurse alive was what counted. "But the main reason I wanted to talk to you, is I got a message for ya from Johnny Lee. He won't come down if there's a Fed about, they could be setting it all up as a trap." She might have been a trauma nurse but first and foremost she had been born, some forty years before, in Mountain City.

Moving very close and glancing at the door to make sure it was completely closed and her voice was no more than a whisper, carrying to David's ears only.

"He says that there will be a '92 Toyota Land Cruiser, dark green, in the main lot in two hours. Keys where Jonni Lee would put them. He says to get her outta here"

"Two hours will be enough to get her where she can leave, but they are doing an MRI her right now. I don't think they'll find anything but you never know."

David simply nodded. The injuries didn't sound horrible, nothing that one couldn't recover from, just enough to make life difficult.

When the nurse told him about the situation with Johnny, he nodded. He knew that Johnny Lee and his group did many things far outside the bounds of legality, although he never asked what. He saw it has plausible deniablity: you couldn't admit to knowing about anything if you honestly had no idea about it. He felt like he was going to get dragged in if he liked it or not, and honestly, if it paid as well as it must for what had been done to Jonni Lea's Challenger, then the money wouldn't hurt.

The two hour wait would be no problem, he had found a lone issue of Car and Driver that was talking about rumors of some new Toyota super car, one that followed the Supra line. He could find a way to entertain himself, it was something he was good at, and he could also figure out a way to get past the g-man out front, and get Jonni Lea back home.

I exhale lightly and roll my eyes. This was moronic. Of course it was moronic. It was all the badge. The badge made you faceless. You weren't anything beyond the badge. That was impossible.

I'm getting really goddamn tired, and its annoying the hell out of me. Tired, of course, is more of a figure of boredom than anything else. I contemplate drifting off, but I'm not quite that stupid. Similarly, I'm not quite stupid enough to believe that I'm doing anything more than wasting my time here.

I rise at one point to get something caffeinated from a machine, then slump back into my chair to pretend that I don't know that I'm being purposefully kept out of the loop by the little pricks who are quite happy to take government money but when it comes to doing their duty by their country are nowhere to be found.

The kind of people that I killed for, that I watched my team-mates die for...good American citizens.

Scum of the earth.

I sigh and slump a bit deeper into my chair, pulling the collar of my jeans jacket up and letting my eyes drift shut, but I don't fall asleep. I just kind of drift, letting my thoughts wander. Which wasn't to say that I wasn't perfectly aware. My hearing was awful good, even after all those explosions and gunshots, and my eyes were a lot more forgiving than my ears. I tended to shoot at things that I didn't see but could hear...

Whatever. I'd done a good deed for the day. Now it was my term to bear the punishment that good deeds always entailed. After all, I hadn't even gotten a goddamn ceremony for my DSC. Just the medal itself and a citation that was pure BS. Oh, and half a hundred grand. That was what I had to show for four years of blood and death.

Y'see, very few people actually made it through more than two years of doing that job. The benefits that your spouse got were really damned good...

Which didn't help me a lick. Ah, well. I let my mind drift off into the clouds, and I hear the sound of seagulls...

It was actually more on the order of two and a half hours before the chunky little nurse reappeared in the edge of David's vision. Further back in the hallway he could see Jonni Lea being wheeled out from the treatment area. She looked up, the left half of her face one hugely swollen bruise. Her left eye was not at all visable but the right caught his eyes and winked slowly, as she essayed a small grin. Her hands were both bandaged, the left massively so. There was also an I.V. in her right forearm, with more medical supplies laying in her lap.

Then the husky orderly pushing the wheel chair was spinning her around and heading for a side exit.

Needless to say, I'm not exactly having the time of my life here. If I ever had one major weakness, it was that I had no particular patience for bullshit. What I was doing right now was pretty damned high on the bullshitometer. Ahh, fuck it.

I wander over to the receptionist and slap down a note with one of the many, many "tiplines" that the FBI maintains scrawled on it, then ask her to call that number to report when one Jonni Lea Pettimore is released from the hospital. Then I walk the hell out.

The helo is low enough on fuel that we have to head directly back to Virginia Highlands, so I have to wait a good hour before I can get my damn car back. That hour has now passed, and I'm sitting in a jumpseat on board the Super Cayuse as it heads back to the scene of the incident...I'm not calling it an accident. I'd bet half my salary that it wasn't...but only half. Because I'm nothing if not a survivor.

I check the mag in the 1079, check the chamber, make sure that the gun isn't cocked by thumbing the decocking lever. The FBI didn't want safeties on their service pistols. Lord alone knew why, maybe because the concept of a safety was too much for the average FBI field agent. Just like the 10mm Auto round was proving to be.

But I liked the round, so I would damn well keep using the real one. I'd been hand-loading rounds for quite a time, it was nothing new to me.

I return the Smith to its holster and peer out of the window. Not to long. My eyes drift shut...
---

The helo touches down for a few moments alongside the road and I hop down onto the runner, then onto the ground. I take a few steps forwards and the Cayuse lifts off to circle the area. I'm somewhat away from the scene, because I wasn't entirely certain that whoever had come along to clean up in the two or so hours I'd been sitting in a hospital waiting room like a moron was still around.

I stay off to the side of the road, and I'm fairly glad I left the jacket on the helo. Sure, the shoulder rig was visible over my black t-shirt, but my cover was truly and thoroughly blown. Seemed like it'd been blown before I'd blown it myself, which was strange. I know for a fact that my "midwestern crime boss" act was very, very good. I just acted like Uncle Earl, y'see.

Earl Yoren, my father's brother, had been the black sheep of the family. He was also about the only kin I had left, too tough to die. Uncle Earl had helped me work the fields when I was a kid, and he'd brought along a gun when he did. Earl taught me how to shoot, how to move silently, how to talk without a western Kansas accent.

We also just talked. Earl would tell stories about his business, which seemed just as fantastical as cops and robbers serials to my young mind. I talked about all kinds of things. Earl was a pretty good guy, and I didn't even have to bite my tongue when I said that. He'd taken his business legit around the time I joined the army.

Prior to that, though, Earl had had a hand in just about every single organized illegal activity between the missouri and the rockies.

I'm approaching the scene now, and my eyes flick about, looking for hostiles. Similarly, I'm plotting in a corner of my mind what I'm going to do if my car is in any way altered from the way I left it. One of the reasons that I was ever even considered for "regular" FBI work is that I'm not only a veteran undercover operative, but I'm a trained interrogator as well. Though perhaps not trained in the manner that the individual who chose me for this little circlejerk thought.

Thusly, I can get pretty damned creative in the arena of making someone's life a living hell. Creative is such a fun word, isn't it?

I think so.

Except that Wes Yoren would find that his Stealth, had been carefully towed back to Mountain City, courtesy of Leroy and Sam. It had been parked in Kellys Auto's lot.

As Wes Yoren made it to where he'd ditched the Stealth, Leroy was saying good bye to Sam. "Thanks for helping me get this car back. Bill's Wagoneer can wait until morning."

It had taken quite some time to get the fire put out and Bills body wrestled from the remains, but every one there had pitched into help as they could.

Dom considered chasing after Johnny and his boys, but by the time he got to his car, an aging Mustang, the only thing he'd be able to chase was a cloud of dust. The one fucker with the oddly Russian-looking moves had his SIG, which the agency would probably have him replace out of his own pocket. SIG's weren't cheap either, which was why he'd been pushing for those new Austrian polymer-frames to get put into service, at least for the undercover guys.

That odd noise of a chopper thundering overhead grabbed his attention again, this time heading back towards town. Dom decided to follow, sliding into the vehicle and cranking the engine, he pulled out of the parking lot. Hopefully, he could find a payphone in town to contact the DEA and get some sort of sitrep on why there was a chopper buzzing around his area of operation...

From the darkness a pair of grim eyes watched the Federal Agent return and move cautiously along the road. This was no mere Feebie, but a hunter, a wolf hiding behind a dullard's badge.

Johnny Lee considered, for just a moment, giving Nathan the signal. The signal that would send a .308 rounds screaming into the Feeb's head, then shook his head fractionally.

No this was too interesting to end so soon.

"No problem." He replied with a grin. "Wonder how long it'll take him to get back." He gestured to the towed car and the fact that it's occupant was nowhere in sight.

With a half wave, he headed out, "I'll be back tomorrow to help you get the other one out." That said he headed back home.

Leroy waved amibly back and laid the keys to the Stealth on top of the drivers side front wheel. That was where most locals left their keys in such situations. However he thought the better of it and dropped them though the slit in the office door. He figued David would be a canny sort and charge the stranger a stiff fee for releaseing the vehicle to him.


Else where Ealr Walsh took possession of a case of H&K MP 5's and began laying the final plans for the Aryan Brotherhood's activites scheduled for the early morning hours of Friday...just a few hours from now.

My night vision is pretty goddamned good, and so I saw that my damned car was missing without too much wandering around. It wasn't where I'd left it, which meant it was either destroyed or moved. Equal money on whether it would end up somewhere back in Mountain City or moved through Pettimore's pipeline to end up in separate pieces Lord only knew where. Which pissed me off.

I doubted they had anything more than a sling-rig in a backwater like this, which meant they probably had to force entry, which meant that the security system would've gone off, which meant that they -probably- disconnected that. Equal money on whether they found the guns or not. If they did, I probably wouldn't ever see them again.

Which is annoying, because those guns had cost me a bundle. The going price on an AW Super Magnum had eaten up a chunk of my separation pay. I wasn't going to get a gun as sweet as that again.

Of course, the nice thing about operating in a region dominated by one and exactly one crime boss, was that you generally knew where your stuff went. I sigh and start walking, my footsteps blending in with the sounds of the gravel. It wasn't that there wasn't a sound, it was that there wasn't a sound that shouldn't already be there.

Of course, I only have to walk a little bit before the Super Cayuse dips over and drops a rope, then it's a simple climb up to the helo. I slump down into a jump chair and tell Vernon to head for Mountain City. I work my hands slowly, the crappy gloves that I'd used to fast-rope earlier were the only things I'd had to climb with, and my hands hurt like a bastard. They'd be fine, but I needed better gloves.

I'm shivering a bit, not with the chill of the night, but because I hate playing a role not of my choosing, and up until now, I've been doing that. Time to re-write the rules.

It was complete chance that Vernon spotted my car in the Auto lot, and to spare my hands I had him take the helo down so I could jump down. I ghost over to the red sports car and slip the keychain from my pocket, thumbing the tab. It's programmed to not make a sound on unlock or lock.

The security system is also built with a double-redundant power supply. Just to annoy the bastards. I slip inside and check things over, finding them relatively untouched, but notice that the spare key is gone, which annoys me. Then I grab the maglight and step outside, giving the car a once-over underneath and under the hood, before I finally come to the trunk.

The lock is still in place, and I slide the key in. Completely different from the actual car key, I'd note. The trunk access to the locker is locked with a damned hefty lock. To the point of which that I don't know that I could pick it, and I'm pretty damn good with a pick.

I check over my gear and exhale. Thank god. Lives were saved by honorable men...

I lock up and slide into the driver's seat and key the engine, then follow the helo out of town and back to Highlands. What a bloody fucked up night this has been.
---

Dana corners me as soon as I'm in my room. My rig is on the bed and I'm peeling my t-shirt off. As expected, she pauses to look over the intricate pattern of scars that covers my torso, minor shrapnel wounds and whathaveyou. I shuck my boots and socks, then the pants, leaving me in my shorts and ankle sheath. I don't have what most people would consider body modesty.

Then I turn around and raise an eyebrow at Fielders, "Whatsamatter, Dana? Never seen a guy before?"

Then I grin and sort through my duffel, laying out a pair of black 6-pocket pants, undershirt, web belt, black socks, boots, thin protective gloves, over-gloves for fast-roping, balaclava, tac-vest, jump bag, and wiley-x Saber ballistic glasses. Then I open up the rather hefty chest with the rather hefty lock in the corner of my room and start filling pockets. NVGs in a belt case, compact monocular, spare clips for the MP5, spare clips for the Smith, a pair of flash bangs, "spare" cuffs, surefire taclight, folding knife, my SOG bowie, drop-down holster with my secondary sidearm, a Colt Government .45, two spare clips, and the sound/flash suppressor.

There was other stuff, like a few candy bars, a specially designed padded water-bottle holder, camo facepaint, my field medkit, which was crap for everyday use, but great for treating bullet wounds and knife stabs, earpiece and lapel mic feeding to a belt unit, hell, there was a damned gilly blanket in the jump bag, in case I felt the need to play sniper...

That was the short list, too. For example, I didn't mention the half kilo of plastic explosive I packed in small rolled-out strips in side-pockets on my jump bag, or the partially disassembled, and thus inert, detonators that I had in a belt pouch. Or the lightsticks. Or the small 35mm camera. Or the arrowhead that Uncle Earl gave me when I was seven. Or the polished bone necklace that a young girl had given me in a hellhole that didn't deserve a name.

The things that I took with me on every op I did. Though in those cases I tended more towards greens and browns than black.

Anyways, I packed all that crap in a nice sized duffel and zipped it up. I didn't have a complete set in the Stealth's locker, but I did have some things that I hadn't put in the duffel, like my primary weapons or my vest and inserts. Much less a helmet.

That done, I lay down on the bed and looked over at Dana.

"What? Just going to stand there?"

She visibly shook herself and laughed a bit, "No. What the hell happened tonight."

I groan and chuckle myself, "Long story. Suffice to say that my cover is fairly well blown. Yes, I mean cowboy druglord, but worse than that. Your average fed doesn't fast-rope from helicopters. Pettimore is almost certainly not current with modern special operations methods, and I doubt he'd recognize -my- style. We, uh, do things differently than anybody else does it. Closest you'd find is CAG..."

I frown, "Oh for Christ's sake. You've got -some- clearance. Ahhh, screw it. Delta Force. Christ. Anyways, even then, we do things just a little differently...and I somehow doubt that Pettimore has seen CAG in action enough to be able to ID their particular style. But I'd bet that he could deduce even from an offhanded report that I was either ex-Special Ops, that'd be Rangers, SEALs, SF, something like that, or paramilitary. That'd be HRT, Marshalls SOG...hell, the easiest ID possible would be to call me Delta."

I roll my eyes at the look on Dana's face.

"For christ's sake. Alright, the helo that Vernon's flying is derived from the Hughes H-6 Cayuse. Also derived from the H-6 are the AH-6 and MH-6 Little Birds, that's attack and transport respectively, used by the 160th SOAR...which exists to ferry around and support special ops forces of all sorts."

I stretch out on the bed, grinning.

"And no, I've never been a Delta operator. Delta is like a big, nasty SWAT team. I've always been more like an undercover detective. I can do the SWAT thing, but I'd be wasted if that was all I did...and that, I think, is why I'm not with the HRT any more."

That and I don't take orders from little pricks who would never have been allowed to command a unit in the Army. The DSC and my shadowy rep had given me the backing to do that and get away with it...for a while. But it hadn't been a good fit, I can admit that now. But I don't mention any of this to Dana, of course.

Then I smile, "Now. Unless you plan on getting in this bed with me, you're dismissed. I'm going to sleep. I will wake up tomorrow morning, eat breakfast, and see how things look with some light on them. My nerves are frazzled and I'm tired. That damned highway was too exposed, and I -know- that I wasn't alone. That kind of shit scares me."

I pull the sheets and comforter up over my body and check that my rig is secure under the pillow. Then I reach up and flick out the lights. I almost jump up out of bed when I feel a second weight drop down next to me on the bed. I feel Dana's hand come to rest on my shoulder, and she whispers in my ear.

"My daddy's friend was a Green Beret in Vietnam, and he used to love to scare me when I was a kid. I remember him shooting skeet with my dad. He never missed. The thought of going up against somebody like Hank half scared me to death. But if Pettimore scares me, you've got to wonder how scared they'd be if they knew who you really were."

I smile and turn towards her, letting her press up against me. Then I grin wider than I've grinned in a long time.

"Babe, I doubt they'd be half as scared as they should be. There is almost zero chance that they would know what I really am. Kinda like you don't know what I really am. And won't. Unless you were to, say, become President. Or Secretary of Defense. Director of a handful of three-letter-agencies. Not the one you're part of now. Y'see, darlin', the reason they can't know who I am is that I don't really exist. Just ask anybody at the Pentagon about a Captain Wesley Yoren. There has never been, nor ever will be a Wesley Yoren who is serving, has served, or will serve in the armed forces of the United States of America."

I know she wants to answer, but I put a finger over her lips. "Ssh. Sleep. You've heard enough already."

I wait until her breathing steadies out and assumes that particular rhythmic pattern of sleep, then I let myself drift off. This was starting to look like it me get real interesting, after all.

No, Mr. Wes Yoren- who didn't exist -hadn't been alone, nor had Johnny Lee and Nathan, though none of the three knew it. There was other out there on the mountain, other that didn't care which style a hunter used, other that didn't care about three letter agencies, or laws, or the plans of man.

No one had even tried to pick the lock on the trunk, for Johnny Lee had decided to allow the new player to keep some of his secretes. But the Stealth's security system had been a breeze for a young man who ran with Johnny for the fun as much as the money, and was wanted in more states than not for his mastery of a car's door locks.

Johnny Lee had a far wider set of friends, connections and business interests than most any one knew about. Oh the Feds surely suspected, or why would they be so hot to take down a small time grower of pot and runner of minor weapons deals? But the small time pot growing out in the wild hollows of the mountains was the closest they'd ever been able to come.

But his home territory Johnny Lee defended with fanatical devotion, and on the whole kept his other activities out of Johnson County, and most certainly off of the mountain.

And it's not real hard, mostly just phone calls, to find out where the helifopter has been spotted working out of - and other things. State lines didn't mean a damn sometimes. There are always eyes if the money right.

He'd pay Mr. Yoren a visit soon.

Morning broke and my eyes opened. I feel Dana as a warm lump against my side, but more to the point, I feel that rush of exuberant energy that comes on some fortuitous mornings. I'm a grade A morning person on some days, and those days are damned fine days. On the other hand, I'm also on occasion stricken with an inability to sleep, and those are some truly bad nights.

I slip out of bed without waking Dana and dress quickly. I don't break into the kit I packed into the spare duffel last night, but I do go ahead and bow to circumstance with my clothing selection. Black six-pocket trousers and a similarly colored t-shirt, belt with a brushed steel buckle, my shoulder rig, socks, a different pair of safety-toe boots, and a black jacket with clean lines. Then I add a small backpack with the essentials thrown in: 90mph tape, a couple of light sticks, water bottle, a shovel, (I didn't carry one in my tac gear, but I have a healthy respect for the shovel as a hand-to-hand weapon...and I can use one, too,) an NV monocular, compass, a few spare cuffs, my other pickset, my bladekit, and the roll of leather that contained my "interrogation essentials."

Then I put on my dive watch and slip my other pair of Wiley-X Sabers into the breast pocket of my jacket. The well dressed and well prepared modern warrior.

Then I start thinking about breakfast. The room has a small range and a microwave, so I break into my not-so-emergency supplies and make eggs and bacon. Around this time, Dana woke up, which didn't surprise me. A few minutes later, we ate breakfast.

Then I stand up and stretch, then grab up the last item I neglected to include, which was a simple length of black cloth that I fashioned into a sort of 'do-rag,' which I then promptly covered with a floppy boonie hat. My hair was technically dark enough that I didn't need one, but I'd never let that stop me. Better safe than sorry.

I turn to face Dana.

"Go get dressed. Anything you want so long as you can run in it and its black. Do wear you sidearm. Do not wear your sidearm in a small-of-the-back rig. If you want to shoot yourself in the spine, I can save you the trouble. Now scurry."

In the meantime, I step outside and walk over to the Stealth, unlocking the trunk and pulling the locker out. It's heavy, but I manage. Then I lug the damn thing over to the gray Chevy Blazer that's a bit more practical for my use today.

I stow the locker in the second-row seats of the Blazer, then slip into the driver's seat. I figure Dana can manage the Mossberg. It doesn't kick -that- badly, and close-in with a shotgun, it was pretty hard to do the wrong thing.

Of course, the damn thing was fairly useless except at close-in, but as of the time of my retirement, I was President's 100...

Good odds.

Bobby Lee had come bounding out of the night as Mike,the orderly wheeled me out of the hospital and into the employe parking lot. He whined unhappily when he sensed and scented my injuries, his dark brown eyes worried. He wouldn't let the orderly push me any further until he had sniffed me over carefully. At one hundred and thirty pounds he could do that, especially as he was wanting to climb into my lap if I'd let him, and I would have - save for the pile of medical gear currently filling it. He had to setttle for going up on his hind legs, his front paws on the wheelchair's arms.

There were the keys to the promised brand new Toyota Land Cruiser - it was the just now in dealer's showrooms '93 model actually - and a letter packet attached to his SAR harness, and I fumbled them off with my right hand, cursing inside at my one handed clumsiness. Mike, who knew me from all the work I did with the Mountain City Volunteer Fire and Rescue, knew better than to try and do it for me, so he just waited patiently until I managed it.

"Okay we can move on now" Bobby Lee heard the firmness in my half drunk voice - I was on some gooood drugs and had more among the pile of supplies in my lap. He lept agilely aside and accompained me to the Land Cruiser. I let Mike take the pile of supplies and stow them in the back seat next to Bobby Lee's bedding blanket that Johnny Lee remembered to place there, as I struggled carefully to my feet, holding the bag of half used IV fluids gingerly. I might be too independant for my own good at times, but I knew better than to tear up the careful sutures and drain that the docs had placed in the back of my left calf where the huge shard of broken pine tree had ripped a five inch long two inch deep gash.

My vintage jeans had been turned into a pair of impromptu Daisy Dukes and my top had been cut off and replaced with what they termed an "I.V.compatable garmet. - Don't ask. It looked hideous, and I know I did too. I just hoped that David didn't find me hideous. I needed to apologise to him for getting him hurt, and involved in all this.

Once I'd gotten into the front passenger seat Mike folded the wheel chair and tucked it into the back cargo space- crutches just weren't going to be a viable option, not with the mess I'd made of my left hand.

David had fallen into the magazine, absorbing what was being said about the new Toyota. A nice turbo six, Getrag tranny, and a good suspension set up would make life difficult for the compitition, which was of couse, plentiful. Mazda had just brought over the new RX7, Mitsubishi had the 3000GT, and Nissan was ruining worlds with its 300ZX.

Of course, this offered a bit of cover for him to eye the Fed. He watched as the man left, walking over to the desk first to drop of a card, and then out the door. David waited a short period longer, then dropped the magazine and walked over to the receptionist. He dug some cash out of his wallet, a few twenties and tens, comming just shy of a hundred and ten bucks, and dropped it on the table. "He ask you to call when Jonni gets out?"

A nod.

"Don't tell him shit," David said, and then pushed the money forward, taking the card with the numbers on it. Another nod, and then David returned to his seat. That was the problem with Feds, the never knew how to keep their heads down. Instead of just grabbing a 222 or some similar chopper and painting it up to look less conspicous, they just HAD to take a Little Bird. A varrient not available on the private consumer market. Anyone who didn't know that a Fed was in town snooping would now.

It was just shy of an hour after that when Jonni was wheeled out. David smiled weakly, at least she was still alive, and helped the orderly assist Jonni into the car. He walked around to the front of the Toyota, took the keys, and back the car out of the parking lot, working his way towards the main road. "Your brother is gonna kill me," he chuckled. "So, where too?"

"Your brother is gonna kill me. So, where too?"

"No he's not. The pink slip is in your name, " I held up the thick envelope in my right hind, the only one useable - being careful not to knock the IV site "and he's tossed in something in the way of thanks for putting up with his brat of a cousin."

I gnawed my lower lip for a moment as David turned on to the street from the parking lot. "I guess I'd better go home." My head was ringing so from the chewing out that Johnny Lee had given me over the phone that it had almost pushed the effects of the Demerol off. Almost but not quite.

Going home wasn't going to be easy, but it would be better than seeing Meemaws upset. It wsa nearly one in the morning, no one would be up at the Mountain Empire motel, and again I wouldn't want to be a bother. The Land Cruiser was on demand four wheel drive and could make it to the trail head. I can muscle the... no I couldn't I realized. not with only one hand...That meant takeing David all the way in to my most private place.

"Ah...David, how good are you at off roading at night?" I asked softly, trying not to slurr my words.

David chuckled. "Well, its better than that beater truck I got. I'll have to thank Johnny next time I see him."

He didn't go through the envalope, just pocketed it, and watched the road ahead of him. The last thing they needed was another crash, or a deer hit, or anything similar, and David was trying his best to stay on Three's good side.

Ah...David, how good are you at off roading at night?

David smiled in the dim light of the Toyota's interior. "Pretty good. They taught me how to drive the Hummers in the Corp, and this was before they said we were gonna go to the big sand box, so it was forest terrain. I'm good enough," he said, nodding. He could easily pilot the Toyota off road, with all its driver aids, and could keep the ride comfortable enough.

I'm good enough,"

I let my head fall back agains the rich leather of the seat and my mouth spoke with out me thinking "I'm sure you're better than just good enough." My cheeks heated and I was glad it was dark but I let it stand.

No one but Johnny Lee and Meemaw had been to the cave house I called 'my place'. My father and Johnny Lee's had found it years before, and had started rebuilding the structure. (http://www.atddm.com/myplace1.jpg)

It had sat unfinsihed and slowly deteroriating until I had found it on my own years later and pestered Meemaw about it's past. I made it mine, and over the years bit by bit fixed it up the way I wanted it. It was still an ongoing process, but I was beginning to think that was the way it was meant to be.
The foundations for the cave home came from railroad tunnel building just before the turn of the century, when the engineers had wanted another gallery to allow more air in and had broken through to the rock over hang and cave.

I didn't use the front door that my father had installed, had bricked most of it up infact, now days I entered through long forgotten, but perfectly safe tunnels and the extensive cave system that wound though the mountain. An old 'rotunda' (http://www.atddm.com/oldminegallery.jpg) meant as a trun around for supply cars acted as my garage and general storage.

I hid the entrance the same way Johnny Lee had for the tunnel mouths he used for his purposes. Camoflauged roll down doors. The trip sensors, like the rest of the security package, were state of the art, and well hidden, cammoflauged to blend in with the wilderness terrain.

David would have no trouble getting me, and the wheel chair, through the passages between the rotunda and home- I kept them well lit and swept clean, not that there was ever much rock dust to deal with.

I started out by giving him basic directions to the side, and slightly shorter route back up to Mountain City.

The road itself was hard enough, durring the day it would have been difficult, even for one of the HMMWV he had been trained to use. In this Toyota, it was even harder. Added the fact that it was night, and the journey was even more trecherous. The numerous twists and turns among the trees made the journey exciting enough, and David fought to keep the car pointed in the right direction based on Jonni's directions. The bumps settled out, and the highbeams were soon cast on the side entrance.

He followed her directions into the rotunda, and helped her out of the Toyota, holding the door open so that Bobby Lee could jump out behind her. He grabbed the supplies out of the back of the Toyota, and glanced around. The well lit room offered more than enough light, and David could easily follow any more of Jonni Lea's directions.

David had managed the short stroll, it was only a couple of hundred yards through the mostly unimproved portions of the tunnel to the outer hallway (http://www.atddm.com/outerhall.jpg), where I had just a few month ago finished laying tile and running better lighting.

"The tunnel splits off here," I commented as he rolled me past the junction in the direction I indicated. "The west branch goes to the over look, where on a clear day I can see forever." Yep still under the influence of Demerol, useing song lyrics and stating the obvious.

Then sixty feet later we were where I lived, or atleast where I'd managed to get the radiant heat flooring installed. Heating the area useing the hot water from the natural hot springs that I, as others before me, had found years ago to heat the place was a no brainer. But it had taken modern technology to allow me to do it.

That others before me had used the hot springs to their benefit had been easy to see. When I had first found the grotto pool there had been artifacts, mostly shards of pottery and such, but I'd stored them carefully away. And I'd improved the pool (http://www.atddm.com/insidecave.jpg), as well as making use of the natural cleft vent - I'd installed a romantic wood burning fireplace, lights and plants. Even if I was soaking in all that steamy luxury alone.

I was proud of what I had accomplished in making the place home. The kitchen (http://www.atddm.com/u1.jpg)was mostly salvaged and resotred pieces, save for the kitchen appliances, a top of the line gas stove and Sub Zero fredge freezer side by side which I had won at a Best Buy grand opening down in Nashville. That was another reason Danny hated me, I had uncanny luck with raffels and prize drawings.

My bedroom (http://www.atddm.com/picture27.jpg) was on the east side of the dwelling, next to the brick outter wall. The second bedroom (http://www.atddm.com/sparebdrm.jpg) lay deeper into the cave -while I had put in radiant flooring for warmth, it was rather unimproved but still very habitable. It was one of the few areas, besides the grotto, that I hadn't put in false ceilings. A modest bathroom seperated the two.

"David," I found myself suddenly shy as he rolled me into the living area. "Would you mind staying the night? I'd really hate for you to try and figure your way back out and down the mountain alone."

I drop the duffel with my tac loadout in it in the back of Blazer, then drop a second, significantly smaller duffel that had some choice bits that I figured Dana could use next to it. No clothing, of course -- I'm six foot one and fairly well muscled, she's five foot six and slim.

I've been on the horn to my superiors, and I've got the ok to be doing a little takedown on the local Sheriff's shack. The warrant just came through the fax.

Shouldn't be hard. HE slug from the Mossberg to the front door, then toss in a flash-bang and ride in with immediate threats disoriented, deaf, and blind. I keep a pair of earplugs on a bit of string around my neck when I'm on an active op...

I can't put a finger on why the local deputy pissed me off. Maybe because he had yet to call me, and I hate being kept waiting. Of course, even odds that the motherless bastard would be present, but that was the bitch of not having enough intel.

Which reminds me. I make a note that I need to have the damned Stealth re-keyed and the security system reprogrammed. Or something.

Goddamn hillbillies making things difficult. Mischief was well and fine...up to a point. Then I figure the reason that I want to drop the Sheriff's Office: I really, really want to hurt somebody.

There was a lot of shit that pissed me off, but ungrateful little fucks were pretty high on my list. Did I mention that I was a trained pararescue jumper? I'd gotten a fairly good handle on Ms. Pettimore's injuries, and I've got a lot of experience as to how long it takes a good trauma center to process something like that.

Two possibilities. My call wasn't coming or Pettimore was still at the hospital. Hah. Yeah. Pull the other one. It's got bells on it.

This is when I'm supposed to say that I don't blame the little shits at the hospital, but I do. Of course, I don't have proof of this. Well, I didn't. Did I mention that I have minions?

Well I do. And one such minion had checked up on the situation at the hospital a few hours before I woke up. It was a pretty simple process. A simple form with the signature of the secretary of justice gave said minion the right to review Ms. Pettimore's chart.

Of course, if the hospital hadn't recorded her discharge on the chart...the hospital would be in a world of shit.

Said agent should be reporting in shortly. Such information is not for cell towers. Which reminds me. I head over to the CIC, or whatever the Feds called it, and retrieve both my cell phones, plus call records. Which are blank. Figures.

Around this time, Dana finally emerges wearing about what I'd asked for. Black sneakers, shirt, trousers and pants. Jacket. I noted the lump under the tightish jacket where her shoulder rig undoubtedly rested. Fair enough.

She hops into Blazer and I glance over at her.

"Alright, dearie, lets head down to Mountain City and we'll play this one by ear. You know how to use a shotgun, right? Kinda? Well, not hard to teach."

I bring the stupid Chevy to life and head off down the highway. Anyways, I wouldn't follow up at all on Ms. Pettimore until I got the radio message -- frequency agile, scrambled radios were still more secure than cell transmissions, as to her status at the hospital.

At this point in time, fuck subtlety. When I pull your ass off the side of a mountain and take you to a damn hospital, I expect a little common courtesy in return. Instead, I get my car stolen and towed, and the bastards kept the spare key. More money wasted...

I flex my fingers one by one and grin.

Johnny Lee Pettimore III was in a world of shit. Drug running alone was a big fat black mark, what with the war on drugs. But RICO sayeth that a life sentence was practically ensured, say nothing of the whole illegal weapons thing.

Pettimore's pawns were in for it too. Provided the evidence was acquired...

Right now, though, I'm going to go knocking on the sheriff's station's door. With a shotgun.

I smile, and the whole world seems to get more real.

--

I park the Blazer out front of the sheriff's station with the rear facing the front door. Then I note that the nifty thing about being with the FBI is that you can tint your windows as much as you want. I open the gunlocker -- I don't need my ops kit for this, just some firepower and a vest.

I put my vest on under the jacket and discard the shoulder rig, transferring the Smith, the suppressor, and the two extra mags to a dropdown assault holster which I strap to my right thigh. I clip a pair of flash bangs to my belt and grab up the MP5, slipping the tac sling on over my jacket.

I strap a mag-carrier to my left thigh, complete with two thirty-round clips of 9mm FMJ. The MP5SD2 itself has a second mag taped to the one in the gun, so that gives me four mags total, which oughta be enough.

I pull my gloves on and cover my face from about mid-nose to the bottom of my neck with a stretchy neck-gaiter. Fun stuff. Slide the Saber's into place and I'm nice and intimidating.

I throw my backpack over my shoulder and toss Dana the smaller duffel.

"Grab the balaclava and gloves out of that. Your vest's in there, too."

After she's done that, I scoop the Mossberg out of the locker and check that it's loaded, which it is. Then I go ahead and fish eight shells out of a partially empty box of 12 gauge and slide them into the saddlebag loops on the stock. Then I pass the shotgun to Dana.

"That's a Mossberg 590. You draw a shell into the chamber by pumping it, forward then back. Try it."

She does it, and if it is neither fast nor confident, I wasn't expecting it to be.

"Good, now it's ready to fire. You've got nine shots in the internal mag, then you have to load more. There're eight here on the stock, see? Good."

I show her how to load the shotgun and I'm glad that I decided not to bother with HE slugs or anything fancy like that. She'd never even contemplated what an entry was like before...

"Alright, I'll do the entry bit. You cover my ass. Don't shoot anybody who isn't trying to shoot me, and that shotgun isn't going to leave anybody to interrogate. But if somebody is trying to kill me, blow the fucker to hell."

I lead her to the rear of the Blazer, which is now off and locked, and count down from three.

On one, I open the rear window and drop the tailgate and drop out of the back of the truck, landing in a slight crouch and continuing forward in that position to the front door. Dana trails me slightly, having paused to shut the Blazer back up.

I wait until she is behind me, slip in my earplugs, then bring the MP5 up to my shoulder and flip the selector to Full.

My index squeezes back and I trigger a precise burst into the area just upwards of the door handle, then drop my left hand from the MP5 and push forward with my right, letting the sling keep the gun pointing forward, saving my aim and my wrist.

I pull a flash bang from my belt with my left hand and bite off the safety pin. Then, my hand tight on the frogger, I apply my boot to the door. Then I toss in the flash-bang and turn my head to the side and clamp my eyes shut.

Dana knows enough to follow my example, clamping her head to her shoulder and squeezing her eyes shut, then plugging her other ear with the hand not holding the shotgun.

The flash is still visible through my eyelids, even though I'm not looking at it, but it isn't blinding, and the earplugs save my ears. I pull down on the string connecting them and I can hear as well as usual. My left hand returns to the MP5 and I step inside, leading with the MP5.

I shout "FBI! GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND AND DON'T MOVE!"

Not that they could hear it, really, but I don't much care. I said it, that was what's important. Now anybody who didn't do what they were told was a criminal, law enforcement officers or otherwise.

The Johnson County Sherrifs department had their main offices down in Joshson City, even though Mountain City was the county seat. The entire department consisted of the sheriff and five deputies. They split six partol cars between them- actually two were off road capable jeeps, and they even had a police dog, but he lived with the sheriff and the sherrif didn't work nights.

"FBI! GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND AND DON'T MOVE!"


The single half asleep deputy manning the station fell from his chair, his head cracking hard against the old lineolium of the floor, pissing his uniform pants as he did so. The last thing he'd ever expected in his twenty four years was to have the FBI come blasting in on him. Not that he could have heard the statement over the ringing in his ears.

Slowly the upflung pages of the weekly newpaper- the Tomahawk settled to the floor some what hiding his quivering form.

David followed Jonni's directions through the house, leading her through the house. He was very impressed with the setup, full off the grid, nothing in the house was delivered from power wires. It had all been set up to work perfectly, and he liked the idea. It made it easy to disapear into the darkness when no one had any solid location of where you were.

He contimplated asking for landmarks to look for on the way back, but before he could, she asked him to stay.

Would you mind staying the night? I'd really hate for you to try and figure your way back out and down the mountain alone

He had to think for a moment, and then decided he would be a good idea. He had no idea in hell where he was, no idea how to get back, and his return senses, in night in an area like this, would be nill. He assumed that Jonni would have a seperate bedroom, and that would remove any 'akwardness' from the situation.

"Yeah," he responded calmly. "No problem, I can stay."

I've identified the deputy shortly and have him covered with my MP5. I have Dana run up to cover the guy with her shotgun, then I check out the rest of the place. It takes me less than a minute, then I'm dragging the piss-drenched bit of refuse up by his color and putting the suppressor-end of my MP5 up against the bottom of his jaw.

His hearing should be returning by now, the visual distortion of a flashbang lasts around five seconds, and almost all disorientation has faded after a minute.

"Listen carefully, you pestulent sack of human refuse. I am going to ask you a series of questions, and if you don't answer them to my satisfaction, I am going to put four 9mm Parabellum rounds through your jaw, here, and into your brain. You won't feel a thing. If you answer most of them right, I'll take you outside and drop a match on your corpse, then maybe God will feel merciful and burn you, so your relatives won't have to see what a pansy you are."

I'm acting, yeah, but I've done it, too. I laugh manicly, then start in with the questions.

"First Question. Who is the Queen of England? Second Question. How many Pettimores does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Third Question. Does every smart person in Tennessee REALLY live in Murfreesboro? Fourth Question. WHERE ARE MY FUCKING CAR KEYS!? Fifth Question. Why is it that every girl in Tennessee is looser than an elephant? Sixth Question. Can you point out Avalon on a map? Seventh Question. WHERE THE FUCK IS DANNY ROSCOE!?!?"

So I'm an ass. What's your point?

No problem, I can stay."

I let my breath out, though I didn't realize it until then that I'd been holding it. and gave him a grateful smile.

I showed him where there was a collapaseable IV stand stowed, and how to temporarily unhook me from the IV. It was a bit awkward, me having only limited mobility and only one hand but we managed to get me settled in bed. I was definitely likeing David Kelly more and more. He was being an aboslute gentleman - appreciative glances but no stares at all the right times.

I didn't have to get undressed save for shimmying out of my inadvertantly created Daisey Dukes -the IV compatable top ws long enough to be a night gown. My moccs had been covered with blood and mud and they'd just bagged them and put me in surgical slippers.

"There's a second bedroom off that way...but this bed is more than big enough for two, even if one is hooked up to an IV."

There's a second bedroom off that way...but this bed is more than big enough for two, even if one is hooked up to an IV.

Part of David said Yahtzee, but the other part, the part that was just that much louder said no. It wasn't the dress blues Marine in him, it was the Texan that said to let her rest, catch her breath, and get well. That was the key right now, and as nice as it would be to cuddle up to Jonni Lea, he needed to get her back to 100% operating ability.

And if he ever told one of his war buddies the story, he could just say he wanted her to be at peak physical fitness when he got his chance. Yeah, that would work. And the IV would be getting in the way.

"I appriciate it, but I'll take the guest room. You need to get your sleep and rest, and I can be a rough sleeper. Always have been since I was a kid, dunno why. Not nightmares, just a rough sleep. But I'll just be down the hall if ya need me. I may be a rough sleeper, but I'm also a light sleeper. Unless you want me to stay here?"

His last statement was more of a question of her own will then anything else. He wouldn't crawl in with her unless she wanted it.

Unless you want me to stay here?"

The demerol, combined with exhaustion, was dragging me back under the longer I lay there looking up at him, and I knew he was the man that I definitely wanted to be at my best for. He deserved it

"David Kelly, as much as I'd like you to stay, I don't really want our first night in bed together be when I'm looking and feeling like something Hexx dragged in. He's forty plus pounds of obnoxious bobcat and what he drags in looks, and feels, a heck of a sight better than I do at the moment" I said regretfully but truthfully. My hair was filthy, my sheets would need washing in the moring from the dirt and blood that the quick towel bath the nurses had so kindly given me hadn't all goten rid of. I KNEW I looked like crap. I felt worse...

Except when I smiled up at him and asked "Could I have a goodnight kiss?" Sometimes it's better to ask and Not think. Bless the demerol for overcoming odd bouts of shyness.

"First Question. Who is the Queen of England? Second Question. How many Pettimores does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Third Question. Does every smart person in Tennessee REALLY live in Murfreesboro? Fourth Question. WHERE ARE MY FUCKING CAR KEYS!? Fifth Question. Why is it that every girl in Tennessee is looser than an elephant? Sixth Question. Can you point out Avalon on a map? Seventh Question. WHERE THE FUCK IS DANNY ROSCOE!?!?"

"Buh buh, buh, KKKKKKKKKKKeys?buhbuh buh" The unfirtunate deputy never had cause to curse his usually not too pronounced stutter more than he did now. His head hurt something fierce, the questions were comming at him faster than he could sort them out and the gun underneath his chin wasn't something the four month TCLOSE course he'd taken had ever prepared him for. But the last he could answer, kinda

"Danny'll be in at eight ta get his paycheck" he gapsed out coherently just before he fainted...and he didn't stutter once.

It was 5:30 a.m. Friday morning, November 20th 1992. Thanksgiving was next Thursday...

and at the quarry, already a double score of men had called in, siddenly sick...

Could I have a goodnight kiss?

David chuckled. "Sure thing," he said, leaning forward and kissing her on her forhead gently. He winked, made sure she was comfortable, and made his way down the hall to the guest room. He found it easily, and made his way towards the bed, not really thinking about anything at this point except sleep.

It had been an interesting, if not long, day, and his body was starting to protest further activity. His joints were sore, his knees and arms resisting any major movement, but nothing he couldn't just sleep off. With a quick shrug, he removed his tshirt and dropped it on the floor. A similar quick movement had his sneakers off, and he used his toes to pull off the socks. Lastly, a snap and a zip, and his jeans found a new home on the floor. He pulled the covers back on the guest bed, and slid in, pulling them up around his neck.

He hardly had a chance to think about the days events before sleep overcame him.

I could have screamed as David kissed me on the forehead and not the lips as I had been hopeing. I half chuckled to myself as sleep over took me but managed to drape my right hand over the edge of the bed and ruffle Bobby Lee's silky ears. Normally the old dog slept on the bed with me but tonight he understood that the floor would be best. He sighed as he laid down, careful not to distrube the IV stand. Then sleep claimed me completely.

Hours passed unnoticed until the pain in my left hand woke me with a jerk. I sat up stiffling a scream and slowly, awkwardly used the oversized mitt that covered my left hand to hold the IV line to my shoulder just below the upper medication port. My fight nad fumbled for the pre prepared syringe of pain maedicaion and very carefully I maanged to ger the does into the line. Relief was nearly immediate and I sighed in relief. Bobby Lee watched gravely and whined softly.

The morning was well advanced, I could tell by the way the wan winter sun slanted through the slightly open curtains. It had been about two by the time we'd gotten here, and now was at least nine in the morning.

The IV bag was empty, but I couldn't remove it one handed, not when the implant site was in my one good hand, nor could I change and replace the dressing on my left hand with out help. I lay back determined to let David get at least another hours sleep before waking him and asking for his help. I really hated being so helpless, but that frustration didn't keep me from falling back sto sleep drawn under once again my the pain meds.

When I woke again I could see that it was nearly noon, and I told Bobby Lee "Go wake up our visitor. Go wake David." and watched the big Shiloh Shepherd trot off. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, turning my wind-up radio on at a low volume, to try and catch the noon news.

Ivan got up fairly early as he decided to go for a decent early morning run. Running past Kelly's Auto lot, he noticed the stranger's car was missing. Figuring the man had picked it, he continued his run. On the back leg, he decided to detour and see if Kelly was awake. Figuring he'd probably be up by now, he altered his route to head back to the lot.

Wiping a bit of sweat off his brow, he knocked on the door. He was going to see if he could find out anything about the stranger as he'd certainly at least spoken to Kelly to get his car back.

I smile calmly down at the unconcious Deputy and let him drop down the wall. Poor bastard.

Then I safety the MP5 and let it drop down on the tac-sling. Then I check my watch and curse annoyedly. Chalk one up to letting things get away from you. And, of course, I didn't really feel like breaking out the smelling salts to ask the deputy if he meant eight AM or eight PM.

I drag the deputy over to a corner and secure his hands behind his back with a pair of 'spare cuffs,' alias 'zip cuffs,' in effect a 1/2" wide strip of nylon with teeth cut into it that fit through a locking collar-kinda thing and didn't come back out again. Pretty damn hard to get out of, and it was light, quiet, and non-reflective.

Then I toss the chair away and drag another one over. I motion for Dana to pull over a chair, not the one I'd tossed in the general direction of the Deputy, but not AT the deputy, then reach over and safety the Mossberg. Then I show her how to -unsafety- it, just in case...

Then I walk back over to the front door and take a roll of 90mph tape from my backpack and tape over the tight group of bullet holes by the handle. Then I return to the desk, sit down and put my feet up.

In the mean time I take my notebook from the pocket of my jacket and review some items. Then I pull a pen from my pocket, click it, and write something at the bottom. Then I pass the notebook to Dana.

She reads it, and looks up at me. I smile. I had written "Deduction: Something has been going on under our noses. Roscoe knows about it. Before the day is out, we will know about it."

I've got two rolls of leather in my backpack, both tied with lengths of string. One is my bladekit, home to an assortment of very nasty sharp instruments, ranging from lapel knives to push daggers to razor blades, the other is my interrogation kit, containing strangely similar items.

But I expected that Danny Roscoe would crack to the barrel. The barrel of my MP5 pointed directly at his face. Most cowards did. If he didn't, then things got interesting.

My thoughts are interrupted by Dana clearing her throat, and look over at her. She smiles playfully.

"So what were the answers to those questions you asked? The ones that he didn't answer?"

I laugh.

"Well, the queen of England is Elizabeth the Second. It takes three Pettimores to screw in a lightbulb, one to hold the Dildo, one to move the Dildo, and one to take it up the ass. Yes, every smart person in Tennessee lives in Murfreesboro, the Blazer's keys are in my pocket, I don't know, No, and the seventh question was what counted."

There was something to be said for the classics...

The noon news had nothing good to report. The news of Bill's death had been pushed aside by much more recent events.

The Jewish Community Center was really nothing more than Marge Simon's mothers house It had been deeded to the tiny, less than a thirty five familys in the entire tri county area- Johnson, Sullivan and Carter Counties - Jewish community as a place to hold worship, hold handicraft clases and gatherings.

But maked and heavily armed men had struck at about ten as Anne Simms had arrived to head the students who made their Mothers Day Out' gatherings possible. Five highschool seniors and Anne babysat fifteen kids, ages eighteen monthes to thirteen years while their mothers took a well deserved break from being housewives and moms. It was a regular once a season event, eagerly looked forward to by the often over stressed mothers.

Now it was a nightmare. The rambling stone house sat on five acres surrounded by post and rail fence. Years ago the Simon's Farm had been a noted dairy farm, but time, and taxes had seen most of the property sold off. When Gracie Simons had passed on Marge and her husband, a vice president at the Johnson City Bank had deeded the house over. The local Jewish community had been very grateful for the windfall and kept the old place in perfect repair.

But now Anne Simms lay dead on the flagstone walk way at the front door of the house and there were an unknown number of men within holding the children, their babysitters and a couple of mothers hostage with in.

They were armed with modern machine guns and had fired on any one, including the Joshnson City Medical Center Ambulance and the Johnson City Police, who appraoched within range. The ambulance and one of the five Joahnson City squad cars sat blocking the winding drive, riddled with bullets and their wheels shot out. Fortuantely the ambulance personell and the cop had managed to get to safety without serious wounds.

The Joshnson city police force was marginally larger than Mountain Citys, and the Sheriffs Department was headquartered there. As much of a cordon as could be made was up and the state police were expected to be there at any moment, according to the news report.

There had been no contact with the hostage takers, the phone line having been cut by them before they made their assault.

There was a reason the state police were taking so long to arrive.

It was payday for most of the tri county businesses and the Johnson City Bank had been hit by masked gunmen precisely at nine when the bank's assisstant manager unlocked the front door. They had recieved the payroll monies shortly after closing the afternoon before and had close to a million dollars on hand. There was to be no drop off the next week, Thursday of that week being Thanksgiving ,so they had two weeks funds on hand.

The bank guard had been killed, as had a Johnson City police officer, and two of the three tellers badly wounded. The bank vice president had been taken off by the robbers. The bank was riddled with bullet holes and two of the five county sheriff's vehicles had been shot up as well, wounding the sheriff in the process. He was expected to recover but the state police in the area had been been called there first.

No one had realized that the Jewish Community Center had been stormed and taken until just a short time ago.

"SHIT!!!" I dcursed aloud. "DAVE, GET IN HERE!!"

On hearing what was going down I knew exactly who had done this. I had argued with Johnny Lee even before he took delivery of the weapons that he should not sell any to Earl Walsh, but he felt he 'owed' them for past assisstance. My curses turned the air not blue but black. I was going to kill that racist son of a bitch and then beat the shit of of Johnny Lee for good measure.

My radio squawks something into my ear and I lurch forward, my feet coming off the desk as I fall forward, catching myself with my hands on the desk.

"Dana, did you get that?"

She nods. I curse. At length. In Arabic, Mandarin, Cantonese, Russian, Farsi, and Mongolian. And I was just getting started. Enough time doing what I did and you learned a lot of curse words in a lot of languages.

Then I calm down, marginally. "We're too late, I think. DAMNITALL! WE ARE LEAVING!"

I am standing and moving, halfway out the door before Dana is out of her chair. I hold the door for her and pass her the keys to the Blazer.

"You drive. I have things I need to do. We have, lets see, hostages taken in a presumed racially-motivated crime, probably with a national white-supremacist organization involved and that means this is MY game, and as of right now, I AM HAVING A BAD DAY!"

Dana starts the Blazer up and I get in back. As she starts driving towards Johnson City, she calls for the Helo to wind up and take a sniper. Such as we had. More of a guy with a Remington 700 and a budget-priced Leupold hunting scope.

I drop the mag out of the MP5 and replace it with a fresh one from the locker. Then I fish the helmet and inserts out of the vest and grab up a few more flash bangs. Then I take my Applegate-Fairbairn knife out of the ankle sheath and kiss the blade.

"Eldest Father, Our Soul of Steel,
Aid me in this time of greatest need.

Upon the helpless,
the feral wolves do prey
under this sun, this sky.

Eldest Father, Our Lord of Fire,
Give me the strength, The Will,
to Protect those
who cannot protect themselves

Gray Father, Swordfather,
I beg thee

Here my cry, give me the strength,
the will,
the cunning.

We are as nothing before the storm."

I pull my left glove off with my teeth and knick a fingertip with the knife, then draw a line of blood down the blade. Then I close my eyes and mouth a few words. Finally, I wipe the blood off on my sleeve, resheath the knife and pull my glove back on.

Damnit, I couldn't do this alone. Well, I could, but a lot of the hostages would die. It sucks ass to be a hostage. No, I needed snipers and converging tac-teams and lots of confusion and instant takedown.

By the time the gray blazer pulls up behind the police cordon, I've got the inserts in and the boonie hat replaced with a kevlar/composite helmet. I've also got an arrowhead in my pocket, a polished bone necklace around my neck, some more crap added to my web belt, and my badge-holder place in the front pocket of my jacket. Similarly, I've got 'FBI' in white on the back of my jacket now. Decal. Go figure.

I grab up the AWSM in its case and hop out the back of the Blazer, staying low and darting forward 'till I get to the Cordon. Dana follows, stay low with the Mossberg tight to her chest.

I approach the nearest police officer, remaining low. "Who's in charge here? I'm Special Agent Wesley Yoren, FBI. Talk fast."

At nine am, when Jonni first woke, David had already been up for just under thirty minutes, dressed only in his jeans, and was pushing past his thirtieth pushup. It was the same every morning of his life, except Sundays, since his discharge. Fifty pushups, fifty situps, and a four mile run: two miles out, two miles back. Today, he would break from the run between not knowing where he was, and not having any comfortable running gear. By ten, he had finished, and covered in a light sheen of sweat, he made his way through the house and into the garrage, giving the Land Cruiser a good once over to make sure non of the off roading had damaged any parts.

As eleven rolled past, he was making his way around the house, orienting himself with the kitchen. He made a mental note to appologize to Jonni about making himself at home, but he needed his morning cup of coffee. He found a pot and mix, and soon the hot, dark liquid was waking him from what little bit of sleep still held. At 12:05, he was walking back into his room to see Booby Lee half standing on the bed, as if looking for him. The dog turned and cocked its head sideways, panting a bit.

"Hey, whats up mut?" David asked, grabing his tshirt and scratching the dog behind its ear.

DAVE, GET IN HERE!!

Dave glanced up, the dog already at full gait out of the room. He stood, and pushed off fast, running around the door way corner, sprinting hard down the hall, and rounding the corner to Jonni's room. He stopped halfway between the bed and the door, noting her look of anger, hoping that it wasn't dealing with the coffee. He had cleaned it up.

"Whats wrong?" he asked, glancing at the radio.

"Whats wrong?"

"Listen to this SHIT!" I exclaimed angrily as the radio begins repeating what it had just moments before.

I let him listen while I inspect my left calf with its stitches and drain. It has drained a bit as I slept and the bandaging would have to be replaced.

Once it the news began repeating I turned it off and looked up at David with fire in my eyes, despite the wooziness of the meds.

"That can only be that total ass Walsh. And Johnny sold him the damn MP5's Oh I am so going to kill the pair of them." My voice is cold and clear. Earl Wash and his Aryan Brotherhood were finished, locally at least, if I had any say in the matter.

The repeat had added one new thing. The FBI was on the sceen and that meant Imperial entanglements coming even more onto the mountain.

The mountain was my home and I did not appreciate their utter stupidity in the least. The H&K's were meant to be sold to an overseas dealers, all of them, not some sold local to make a quick buck and pay back those terminally stupid bigots.

"Dave I have to get to Johnny and we have to get other things done. Will you help me?" I knew it wasn't right to pull him into what was essentially family business, but I had no other choice. My stitchen in the leg were still to fresh to risk walking any distance or speed, and my left hand was out of the picture even worse.

I had the supplies to replace the trauma rooms initial bulky dressing of my burnt hand with something less bulbous, but I still couldn't use it. It was so swollen I couldn't flex my fingers and the swelling ran up past my wrist.

I'd stopped seeing double while still at the medical center and I'd not been nauseous since the jostling of the helicopter ride. The pain meds - the Doc had issued them only reluctantly, as they can makle dealing with concussions difficult by masking symptions - had cleared up the headache as well. However I knew I was in no shape to drive.

The Johnson City police officer had only had the job a year and his TCLOSE, far fresher in his mind than that in the deputy sherrif Wes had assaulted, looked up at the FBI agent with wide eyes as he couched behind the drivers wheel well.

"FBI? Wow! How did you guys get here so fast? I thought that the state troops wouldn't have called you in. It's not an FBI matter is it?" He hald stammered.

"Chief Sullivan just got here himself from the bank. Sheriff Dewey has been taken to the hospital I heard. He's up there"

He pointed to the first squad car in line, a battered Sherrif's department jeep, where three heavey set men in different uniformns crouched, apparently confering. Two were Johnson City Police uniforms , one was Sherrifs Department.

"He's the bald one." The deputy added.

David had once heard in a mafia movie that you let the family deal with its own business, and kept your ass away from all of such nonsense. But then again, he was already knee deep, why not go full in? He listened to the report about the feds showing up, and the shootings at the bank and the community center, and nodded.

Dave I have to get to Johnny and we have to get other things done. Will you help me?

David nodded. Jonni couldn't drive, shooting would be outa the question, and with everything else, he knew that she would be, to put it nicely, out of league with her current status. It was the least he could do. "Yeah, I'm in. What do ya want me to do?"

I grin lightly at the cop, "Oh yeah, ace. Hostage taking for the purpose of affecting a civilian population, in this case American Jews. Terrorism, my friend...as for speed...thank the Media."

I pat the officer on the shoulder, "Keep it up. You guys're having a helluvaday by anyone's standards."

Then I'm off, Dana following behind me like a slightly uncoordinated shadow. I bring the MP5 up as I low-run forwards. It was a fair distance to the community center, and the reflex sight on the SD didn't offer any magnification, but it was more of a gesture anyways.

I come to a stop behind the cover of the jeep, letting my MP5 fall back on its sling. Then I produce my badge-holder, flip it open, and pull down my neck gaiter.

"Special Agent Wesley Yoren, FBI. From what I got over the radio, you guys are having an awful bad day. You've got, what, multiple murders, a bank robbery, hostage taking, assaults with deadly weapons, attempted murder, hostage taking, and that was just at the bank. Now you've got multiple hostages taken, more murders, destruction of state property, resisting arrest, so on, so forth...but, y'know what else ya got? Terrorism. Hostages taken and murders committed for the purpose of affecting a civilian population."

I set the rifle case down and produce my compact binoculars and look over the community center.

"So, give me a sitrep and let's talk about how we can get whoever may still be alive in that building out of that building, still alive, ya dig? Have you gotten any demands yet? Numbers? Anything at all?"

"Yeah, I'm in. What do ya want me to do?"

"First thing is coffee? Actually first thing is this IV out." I changed my mind then quickly talked David through the procedure. He was very careful and followed directions to the letter. Then while he made fresh coffee I unbandaged my hand and looked at it with a sour grimmace. Luckily they had been able to give me state of the medical art burn dressings for it. With my right hand free of the IV tether I was able to scootch down to the box of supplies and begin redressing the burns myself, though I'd have to wait for Daivd to return to finish. The proflex medical burn glove would rise nearly to my elbow but would hold the mixture of aloe and antibiotic gel against my hand. Not exactly standard medical procedure but the big bottle of aloe vera had bedn slipped in among the other supplies, and aloe was soverign for burns.

Laying the other supplies aside I undid the bandages about my left calf and inspected the stitches. They looked well placed and tidily done. I'd leave the drain in through till tomorrow. I changed the soiled bandage, though not easily working one handed, and was waiting for David to return with coffee. I'd need him to help slip on the light support stocking.

He brought in a cup of coffe and some of the dainsh I had just put in the fridge a day ago. I took the coffee gratefully taking a long sip and a bite of the danish.

"I hope you've eaten something. Andy thing here is yours for the asking." This morning I damns sure did know what I was saying. I was holding off on the Demerol till we got ready to move and the other pain meds, mere Davron didn't cloud my mind, or not near as much.

He nodded and admitted that he'd been up and had coffee earlier. It pleased me to think that he was feeling comfortable enough to root around and take care of himself.

He helped me slide the glove on and then went to his knees to work the support stocking on. He was very gentle as he worked up my toes and then past my ankle, and I shivered at the feel of his broad strong hands on my leg.

Then I was leaing over and kissing him but tenatively, ready to back off at any movement away on his part.

The police chief gave The nosey FBI agent a sour look. "Now you listen here, we haven't asked for the Feds, and no we have no idea how many are in there, what they want or if any one is left alive. Shirley Ramhampton was bringing Megan in late, as usual, pulled into the drive got part way up and saw Anne's body and backed out in a hurry."

"No ones made any calls in or out. They apparently cut the lines before they went in." One of the other two said officiously. He was the seniro deputy sherriff.

"She didn't see any one, and they didn't shoot at her, and she was so rattled she drove al the way home to Shady Grove before calling us." He shook his head. Shirley was well know as about the dimmeset, most easily rattled bulb in the tri counties area. Sweet, sweet woman but god had given geese more common sense than he had her.

"The closest neighbor is Bob Desoto, over there down the back of the hill and he leaves for work at six. So no one close to hear any shots and well even if they had they might not have thought too much about it. Nosies echo here in the mountains and it is deer season." Though he had no comment to a Fed about what hunters might be doing with automatic weapons.

All three were personally sure they knew who it was- maybe not specific names but what group of locals it was. And they weren't about to say a thing to the Feds unless they had too. They might not like the Aryan Brotherhodd and it's loud mouthed bigotry, but they just could see their neighbors and kin doing something like this, though they were powerfully afraid they had...

I'm getting that damned feeling again. That feeling that, as usual, thought stopped at the badge. So I return my badge-holder to my pocket.

Then I sigh and slump down a bit, dropping the binos back into my pack.

"Listen, Ace. Are you seriously going to hold out on me when you've got, what, at least three deaths, one of which was a police officer, kids taken hostage...if I were you, I would be calling up the damned Pentagon, looking for all the help I can get. But I can live with you, for their sake."

I sigh, then touch my belt unit.

"Hold off on the Helo. We don't want to spook them. Don't bother calling for HRT, I'm the ONLY damn one of them not currently engaged or on med-leave...Arrgh."

And I'm not active duty, either. Not that it mattered. It wasn't like having HRT on your jacket made you superhuman.

I make sure the MP5 is safetied, which it is, then exhale.

"I don't suppose you even have an ID on the weapon types, do you? I mean, are we looking at military battle rifles or are we looking at Tec-9s and Uzis? Similarly, are you expecting SWAT back up, or just more uniforms?"

I think for a few minutes...

"Hell, do you have snipers out, or is that house un-interdicted? Can you expect local support? I mean, damn...I'll just say right now that I've never been able to quite understand why anybody would play powergames when lives are at stake. I'm here because there are people in that house who are going through one of the most traumatic experiences that any human being can ever go through, and that purely pisses me off."

I let my hand rest on the rifle case, drifting it back and forth over the brushed steel.

"So are you here to save lives, or are children going to die today?"

"So are you here to save lives, or are children going to die today?"

Chief Sullivan gave Wes a disgusted look. "What you think we wanted any of this? Well your damn wrong there mister."

"Yes we have a man on the Milkins place that backs up to this property, with a good clear view of any activity in the back yard should they try to leave that way, but he only got there twenty minutes ago. If they've left already we wouldn't know it. The last activity was when these maniacs shot the hell out of our second newest squad car nearly an hour ago."

"SWAT? oh man we'll be lucky to get the state cops here soon, and I have no idea if they'll be willing to bring in a SWAT unit. This is a poor state son, the nearest unit is down in the Nashville, and I've already called."

"This ain't power games son. Mountain City has five, I had five, the Sheriff's department had another six, but the Sherriff is in the ER, and the office isn't answering the radio, so I don't know if they have any that aren't already here avaialbe. And not a one of us are trained for this sort of thing Special Agent Yoren."

"No but the Special Agent here is and Nathan and I are...trained." A grim, soft voice came from behind as Johnny Lee Pettimore spoke up. He'd ghosted up as quiet, well as a ghost, his moccasin covered feet making no sound. Nor were Nathan's as he covered his partners back from a few feet back.

Eyes as black as coal locked with the Feebs, "We need to go hunting, and get this settled."

My hand darts out and clamps down over Dana's Mossberg's Tang Safety, thusly her hand couldn't reach it.

"Down, Girl. Gently."

Then I turn around raise an eyebrow at Pettimore.

"Fair enough. On the other hand, if the bastards are still in there, there had best be more than just the three of us or there're going to be casualties amongst the hostages...hell, do we even know that there ARE hostages?"

I shake my head and sigh, then set the rifle case down flat and flick the latches open. I reverently remove the Accuracy Internation Arctic Warfare Super Magnum from the foam, calmly give the rifle a once-over, slap a mag into place, then drop the over four spare mags and the half-box of ammo into my backpack. Then slip the sling over my shoulder and rise to a half crouch.

"Either way, I'm listening, Pettimore. Don't take that to mean I like you, it's because of people like you that things like this happen in the first place...but ideology doesn't save lives. So if you're serious about helping those people...or avenging their deaths...I'm willing to listen."

David's hand came up, grabbing Jonni by the back of her head, pulling her in closer and hard for the kiss. It seemed to last for hours, all though it was meer seconds, but much was done and said in those few seconds. He broke the kiss, and took in a deep breath, and smiled.

"That was nice," he said, grinning, but then returned to a serious look. "We can finish it later, I think we have something a bit more important to take care of."

The battered left side of my face exploded in pain but damn the kiss was worth it, and I would have held that kiss for as long as David wanted it.

"We can finish it later, I think we have something a bit more important to take care of."

"Oh more than nice David, more than just nice" I wasn't sure if anything was more important, but the saner side of my mind, while reeling itself acknowledged that, yes for the nonce there were more important things..

"Yes" I agreed, my voice as unsteady and ragged as my breathing "But David, if you love as surely as you kiss, I'm willing to wait till we have time to explore possibilities properly." I swallowed heavily and was all to aware of my reaction to his touch and kiss. I'll have him soon enough...and he'll have me my thoughts whispered gleefully. but I forced that aside and concentrated on finishing getting ready to head out.

It didn't take too long and not too much later David ws guiding the Land Cruiser out of the concealed tunnels.

So if you're serious about helping those people...or avenging their deaths...I'm willing to listen."

"Good. You'll do, but Miss, sorry you won't" Johnny Lee said bluntly to Dana.

Then he turned to Cheif Sullivan. "What that jackass wants is attention, is the media, damn his fool hide. We need to deny him that. You go get Cordell to set fire to the old Tomlinson barn, get every ones eyes over that way."

The old barn was a tumble down wreck that the city had tried for years to get rid of but the stubborn owner had kept taking them to court, claiming that the eyesore of a health hazzard - what with all the rats it was home to and next to Joshnon City Elememntry School- was an integral part of his historic property. It would be no great loss and a service to all to have it spectacularly burn down.

"And no the three of us won't be enough, but I'm going to have Nathan here call a couple of my boys and that will make five, and we five will be enough. But it's going to take about two hours of careful crawling to get to the house and inside." Johnny Lee continued on, after giveing Chief Sullivan his instructions.

Behind him Nathan had pulled his celphone from the rucksack he carried and called one Sam Miller as Johnny Lee quickly drew a small diagram in the soft dirt. "That two story annex you can gbarely see from here has a blind wall that we can approach - it will take some leopard crawling but I figgure you can do it." His eyes rested fro a second on the bone necklace about Wes's neck. "Then we'll go in through the roof access. The Simon's who added on that ell did so during wolrd war two and figured for some reason his family might have to make an escape from the house."

Johnny Lee shook his head at long ago strangnesses and continued on "Once we're up and in through the attic we'll split, two'll take the back stairs down and two the front, main stairs. As I understand it the kids play games and do fingerpainting in the old den, where both sets of stairs dome down at."

I nod slightly and almost reluctantly unsling the AWSM, placing the big rifle back in its case. Then I close brushed steel rifle case and thumb down the latches. It was only going to get in the way, which was a pity. There were few things more exciting than firing that beautiful gun.

Then I nod lightly and make a "return shortly" motion and dart off to Blazer. When i want to, I can move faster at a low-run than any other man I've ever met. One of my lesser useful talents, but useful enough.

I pull my tac bag out of the Blazer and do a bit of sorting, put on a few things, then shrug my jump bag over my shoulder. A few things are my second sidearm, knife, so on. Aanyways.

I return to the police jeep and peer sideways at Pettimore.

"Fair enough, Ace. We'll see if you can hang, later."

I settle down on my heels and murmur something under my breath that is almost completely inaudible but recognizable as Rudyard Kipling's Hymn before Action, if you were capable of hearing it...

"Fair enough, Ace. We'll see if you can hang, later."

"I'm too old and too tough to hang." He laughed darly. Johnny Lee (http://www.atddm.com/johnny.jpg) may have had over ten years on Wes but he was as tough as aged hickory, and as fit as the younger man, as was Nathan.

"Beleive me if I had had any idea that Walsh and his asshat band of wanna be's were going to do anything like this I'd have shot him last night in full view of witnesses." Johnny Lee was furious and didn't care who noticed it. but it was a cold, purposeful form of anger that didn't rule his actions or plans one bit. "and technically I'm legal. I hold a reserve deputyship." He gave Wes a crooked smile that spoke volumes.

The police chief and the others had scattrered to take care of his orders, leaving only himself, Nathan, Wes and Dana to hear his words.

"I've got Sam and Doyle alerted and one their way" Nathan informed him in the silence that followed. "their going to meet us over at the Desoto place as thats where we'll have to come though to hit that blind wall. We'll have to cross roughly ten acres" He added to let Wes know the rough distance. It would be about a thousand feet of leopard crawling.

The return trip was easier in the day, David having a better handle on the terrain, piloting the Toyota almost expertly. He was in the zone at this point, not really knowing what would happen, but knowing enough that someone was going to get hurt, and good. When the road came into veiw, he punched the accelerator, the tires screaching as he wheeled the heavy SUV around, displaying a suprisingly minimal amount of body roll. He steadied the heavy car, and absentmindedly hit the power on switch for the radio. Stevie Ray Vaughn's version of the Hendrix classic Voodoo Child began pumping over the speakers, but the music was more of background than anything else.

Despite the twists, turns, and cutbacks in the road, David managed to keep the speed on the heavy SUV, more of a small truck than anything else, high, well, high for the vehicle. He followed Jonni's instructions, wishing he had enough time to get back to the shop. His handgun, a lightly customized Beretta, was sitting in his own truck, an older Chevy pickup, out in back. However, if Johnny Lee was going to be there, chances were he would have easy access to something that shot.

Ivan had given up on Kelly, figuring the man was sleeping. Heading home, he headed into the shower to wash off the sweat raised from the run. As he towelled himself down, the phone began ringing.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked over and caught it on the third ring. After a brief conversation with Nathan he put the phone back in it's cradle.

Heading to his bedroom, he popped the clasp holding his hunting locker and also the access to his military toys and especially his favoured AKS-74U. Picking out the appropriate hardware and rounds, he relocked the box and headed down to his car.

As he drove to the city in responce to Johnny Lee's summons, he flipped on the radio to see what would cause his boss to need his services.

I give Johnny Lee an odd look, "Sampling the crop, are we? Lemme 'splain, Brown Fox. If I say "I can hang," that means I've still got it, y'know? So when I say that I'll "see if you can still hang," I mean that I'll see if you're as good as you seem to think you are."

"Alright. I pray that your fourth and fifth know a few things about silent takedown, because if we're only going to have one angle of attack, we can't let them know we're there until we've got the hostages out. Otherwise we risk needless death."

I take the shovel out of my pack and unsnap the carrier, then check the balance, then I adjust something near the join between the blade and the haft and give the shovel a spin. I smile, then replace the carrier and fix it to my belt.

Everything is as it should be, except for the camo paint, which I don't -really- need because I'll be using a neck gaiter...but I'll wear anyways. Just in case. That and the Gillie blanket.

Unlike some people, I haven't spent the last fifteen plus years ghosting around the same place. I use what advantages I can get.

"Don't suppose you've got an idea of what we can expect in there. Otherwise, I suggest we start eyeballing where we're going to make our approach and plan a route. I don't know how you did it in the Green Berets, but where I come from, we like to know what we're heading into. Probably because we were constantly told that we were vital to national security and thus under presidential order to not expend our glorious asses unless thus ordered."

I can feel cold chills running down my spine as my body prepared for the upcoming op. I close my eyes for a few seconds, then open them, and the world seems to have gotten more vibrant, more alive, and a lot slower. I take a breath and smile.

I'm alive. I feel good.

Hello, my name is Shrike, and I'm a killer.

Johnny Lee just gave the Fed a look. He knew damn well what the other had meant, but it could have been interperted as he had chosen to as well. And he felt no need to prove himself to the Fed either. Let the man make his own assumptions.

"Don't suppose you've got an idea of what we can expect in there

"Well there can't be more than five in there, cause five hit the bank. They only have ten of the Five's. And knowing those asshats, they went in with just them and maybe a personal favorit pistol. They haven't had much, if any, time to practise with them." He nodded at the patrol car and ambulance that sat close to the house along the winding drive. "They were lucky to hit the vehicles, and I bet they used up a fair amount of ammo."

The ambulance and patrol car were riddled with 9mm bullet holes. JKust counting the ones that could be seen, there had to be thirty plus bullet holes. "They have only one clip each but they well could have carried in extra ammo...if they thought that far ahead. Earl's not dumb, just bigotted."

I concentrated on giving David directions to get him down off the mountain, and where to go in Johnson City, while doing a good job of not screaming as every little bounce and jolt sent agony flareing up my arm from my burned hand. I considered what more pain meds would do to me, and tossed back two more dry.

Once David was on a real road I pulled out the cell phone and called Nathan. She didn't trust her self to speak directly to Johnny Lee at the moment, but the information he gave her mollified her anger quite a bit. She was about to hang up when she had a thought.

"Nathan, tell Johnny to put some one watching the old well."

"Old well?"

"The exit for the underground rail road tunnel."

"Oh Shit" with that Nathan hung up and I cursed under my breath.

"Johnny Lee's there and he's part of a small group going in." I told David.

Ivan winced as he heard the news mention what had obviously gotten Nathan and Johnny Lee so pissed. Turning the radio off, he continued to his destination, knowing a bit of vague more to what had happened. He blanched slightly as it hit him and he realized he didn't want to be anywhere in the area when the Lees got to talking about this incident.

A short while later, he pulled the car up to the address he'd been given. Shutting the engine off with its out of tune rattle, he got out and looked around for Johnny or Nathan.

Nathan cursed and looked over at Johnny Lee.

"Is there an old "Underground Railroad" tunnel out of this place?"

Johnny Lee's eyes went even grimmer. "Damned well! Don't know why I didn't remember that..."

He pivoted back to the Feeb. "We may not find a damn thing in there. Earl's just the sort to remember that and is most likely why there's none of their vehicles around. SHIT!" His thoughts were obvious - The Aryan Brotherhood had probably used it for ingress and intended to use it as egress as well.

Nathan noticed Sam's arrival and waved him over to the group.

Ivan waved back as he headed over to join the group, leaving the weapons in the car for the moment. He could see Johnny Lee was in one of his especially bad moods, much the same as Jonni Lee most likely was. He almost pitied the Brotherhood, almost.

David punched the Toyota around a final turn, leading into a long straight into the town. He stayed on the throttle, keeping the heavy V8 churning over, pulling the heavy SUV down the open straight. A few more turns, a few more straights, and David was piloting the large truck towards the new scene, seeing the other cars already having arrived, a number of men standing around. He was heavy on the breaks, the pads trying hard, squeeling in protest as he slowed the Toyota from a near 80 mile an hour roll. It lurched in its final physics accepting phase, and then stopped, David knocking the key into the off position, still leaving it in the ignition in case he needed to get back to the SUV fast.

He threw his door open, jumping out, and glancing back at Jonni Lea. Despite the meds and the DME, she was making her way out of the SUV easily. David pushed the door in, but not closing it, and moved his way towards the other group, keeping his head down to avoid getting it by any shooters in the building. He moved quickly, and came to stop at the group, nodding at Three and his boys. "Whats the word guys?"

I don't say anything at first. My face is damned near expressionless. Then my left hand comes up with the thumb back and my forehead drops into the space between thumb and index finger. I drop a little further to the ground, kneeling instead of crouching, and my right hand slips my knife from the ankle sheath.

My lips move, but sound doesn't come out. Then I slide my knife back into its sheath and exhale.

"So I'm going to draw from what you've told me that they're armed with an MP5 variant. Judging by the spread on the cars, I'll agree that they don't know what they're doing. I'm also going to say that I've done enough shooting with MP5s of all sorts, and I've seen people who don't know what they're doing with them shoot..."

I frown for a few moments.

"Not full-size MP5s. The short version. You've got about twenty five meters of effective range. If you're firing on full auto, which I'm going to guess these kiddies were, you've got piss accuracy. Another thing, is that the military version, the PDW, wasn't much liked because it had piss-poor penetration. So...what does that tell us, Agent Fielders?"

I turn slightly and smile at Dana. She mumbles something, then sighs.

"It tells us that the JCPD doesn't have armor panels in their squad cars, and it tells us that things aren't as bad as they could have been."

I nod. Two things that are quite useless right now. So, that little bit of fun completed, things got shitty quickly.

"Alright, Pettimore. What is the likelihood that this wasn't a hostage-taking style thing at all? I'm going to say that I was operating on the hostage situation thing because the alternative was more than a bit horrific. But, I somehow doubt that the poor lady who got shot on the walk was a threat. You don't kill hostages for no reason if you plan on negotiating, they're the only capital you have."

I've got chills running down my spine, and I shiver a bit. My hands open and close of their own accord, stretching the fingers out. I know firsthand the mindless cruelty of mankind. That doesn't mean that I condone it. I turn away from Pettimore and Co.

"Are we looking at a mess of dead children, here? Was this a hit, Johnny Lee? Was this a goddamn massacre?"

My face is dead. My eyes stare off into the distance, seeing again the scars on my soul. The mass graves. The casual way in which an african warlord executes a fourteen year old child for the treason of stealing food for his five year old sister.

But those things occured somewhere else. They occured in hell, where the rules of civilization didn't apply. They didn't occur in the real world. So I had fooled myself for so many years.

"Sweet Merciful God, give me strength."

I open my mouth to breath, because my nose is clogged. Liquid fills my mouth, and I taste blood. I try to spit it out, but it flows down my throat through my nose. I gag, choke, can't breath, I see red.

I sway back and forth on my feet, my muscles tensing, my jaw set, and then my vision clears. I turn about slowly.

"'Earl's not dumb,' eh? Fair enough. He's not dumb. He's dead. They're all dead. If a single one of those kids is hurt, every single one of the motherless bastards is dead. Blood Eagle dead."

Deep down in my heart, I don't care about civilized laws. And there's always been something to say about tradition.

"'Earl's not dumb,' eh? Fair enough. He's not dumb. He's dead. They're all dead. If a single one of those kids is hurt, every single one of the motherless bastards is dead. Blood Eagle dead."

Johnny Lee nodded, his eyes fierce. "I agree, but something's not right."

"Whats the word guys?"

David, be welcome" He nodded to the younger man as he rolled in and looked past him to where Jonni Lea was gimping up quickly.

"It's bothering me too Three" Nathan said in his soft raspy voice, his face troubled. "The phone lines are cut, as are the power lines, and he's not tried to make any sort of announcement or demands yet. It's been what? Nearly three hours? Why hasn't he done anything? The only patience I've ever seen him show is when he was hunting."

"And not much then" Jonni Lea grumbled as she came up. "This is not the sort of thing Earl would carry out. Rob the damn bank, hell yes but this? Roll down to Nashville and burn some crosses on lawns and burn down a few churches ...oh nuts...this is just not right!...Bobbi Lee "

The big Shilioh shepherd was by her side in a flash and the look on her face backed every one away from her as she began to move past the group, obviously intent on starting up the long drive way.

Then Johnny Lee had her picked up then swung about and into David's arms. "You are not going up there. Earl knows how you feel about him. Me, if he kills me, well he knows that it's no more play pretties for him."

Jonni Lea looked furious but Bobbie Lee sided with her cousin and declined even to lift a lip at the older Pettimore

""David, make her see sense will you?" Johnny Lee gave Nathan a look. Nathan nodded in return and Johnny Lee started up the gravel drive at a brisk pace.

I started to struggle, as David held me, stung by Johnny Lee's words, but a look at the hard resolve on my cousin's face, and the warmth of David's arms around me stopped me. Earl might kill me but I knew for certain that he wouldn't kill Johnny Lee, he was far too frightened of him, wether he'd admit it or not.

I saw Nathan hand one of the long gun cases at his feet to Sam, and pick another up himself. He waved Sam off to the left to cover from the north and he faded away to the south to cover Johnny Lee from that angle. The drive way wound long up to the house, nearly a football fields length, and slightly upward as the house sat on a modest rise. There were good sight lines covering the last sixty or so feet, and the front porch of the renovated farm house. They'd have a shot at any one coming out, or moving past the big picture window that filled most of the porch.

Fucking mountain folk. Batshit crazy to the core. Nuke the whole place and start over, I tell ya. Do the world a favor.

They were almost crazier than Kansas farm boys. Almost. The difference was that you genuinely did go crazy out there working a field from dawn 'til dusk. Nobody could survive that for long without cracking a little bit.

Combine that genuine insanity with dawn-to-dusk days spent carrying a rifle, and you had a hell of a base on which to build a soldier. Right out of boot camp, I could stalk and shoot as well as any Green Beanie.

But right here, right now, I didn't have the local reputation that would -probably- shield Johnny Lee from angry bullets. Probably wasn't going to work here.

It takes me about ten seconds to unlatch my rifle case and produce the Arctic Warfare Super Magnum. I need a better sight picture, and at the distance I was currently at, an MP5K wasn't going to do much to me, so I crawl up onto the much put-upon police truck.

My legs dangle over roof of the cab a bit, but I've shot from worse positions and I fold down the bipod and settle the stock into my right shoulder.

My thumb flicks the safety off, and my index finger lays alongside the trigger guard. I don't have a target, and I don't want to engage until I do. A random shot probably would punch through the wall of the house, possibly wounding a hostage...if there were any hostages.

The AWSM is aligned pretty well before I even set my eye to the scope and begin toying with the settings. I've always liked Schmidt and Bender scopes, and the 3-12x zoom on the Super Magnum is typical of that company. Absolutely superb.

I meant what I said about the Blood Eagle thing, though. I was going to incapacitate, if possible. The Blood Eagle loses a lot of its effectiveness if the victim is dead.

I breath in and wish I had a spotter, but Dana didn't have that kind of training and I didn't have a spotting scope anyways. Ahh, well.

Johnny Lee moved brisky up the drive making no effort to hide himself. If what he was afraid had happened had indeed, it made no never mind. He got up to the bullet riddled squad car, the rear most of the two vehicles, and paused, calling out -making sure his voice carried well.

"Earl, if you and your boys want to talk it's me you're going to be talking to, so lets get on with it."

The gentle breese gusted up to a fair amount of wind and blew a handfull of dead leaves about but there was no reply from within- verbal or violence.

Johnny Lee knew his vioice had carried well enough, he could see that the smaller windows on either side of the big picture window had had their sashed raised. The building wasn't didn't have central air, most in this area didn't, and only what used to be the master bedroom had a window unit. He could also see the frilly curtains of the kitchen window stirring in the breeze so if they were in the back area he still should have been heard.

He waited a second longer, seeing no movement at all in the front, and the kitchen window gave him no view other than the curtains blowing. Then he moved on past the equally bullet riddled ambulance, and took the three steps that led to the flag stone walk were the body lay.

He paused beside it, but didn't need to make even a proforma check for a pulse. Something high calibur - larger than a 9mm had taken most of her cranium off. He shook his head and went on and took the two steps onto the wide poarch that stretched across most of the front of the long low house.

There was still no reaction from inside and now he could smell a familiar odor, the last one he wanted to smell here - and it was coming from with in.

Ivan had taken the long rifle from Nathan and checked to make sure everything was functioning with it. The odds were against it but always safe over sorry. Catching the gesture, he slid to the left and faded away as he followed the order to cover Third.

On the sly he'd picked up his AKS-74U as with the stock retracted it was quite concealable. He watched for any signs that Earl or his cronies were still around and liable to do anything to Johnny Lee. It wouldn't pay for the boss to get hurt or killed afterall.

He would prefere it to work out best for everybody, everybody that mattered afterall, that being defined as the hostages and Lee's group. He sort of hoped he'd get a chance to drop a couple rounds into the racists but that would likely mean dead hostages so it was only a minor hope.

David held Jonni back till she calmed, soothing her with soft whispers. "Just let him do his thing, he's got it all under control," he said. When she had calmed, he looked up to watch Johnny move up the drive way. The Fed from the night before had moved off with his rifle, and Nathan and Sam faded away to cover Three. He slowly let go of Jonni Lea, and cursed himself for not having his own sidearm with him. It was still sitting back at the shop in his old truck, which only made his life more difficult.

"Well shit," he swore quietly. "Any of you guys got something left for me," he said, to no one inparticular. Most of the others had already moved off to their positions, leaving David and Jonni Lea behind the original cover.

Any of you guys got something left for me," he said, to no one inparticular. Most of the others had already moved

Davids quiet words did soothe me. I knew there was not a bit of condesention in him. Johnny Lee was the best one to go up there. If bullets had to be dodged, he was in far better shape to do it than I was. The pain in my left hand was getting past the pain meds just enough to set my nerves to jangling. Burns were the most painful sort of wound, and my body wouldn't want to agravate it, making me move slower. And while Johnny Lee and Nathan had made sure that I could take care of myself 'n more - and eight years in the army as an MP had helped - I knew I wasn't in their class by a long shot.

I noted the two gun cases that Nathan had left,- a long gun case and a large hard cover pistol case and nodded towards them. "Pull something from those David, it's most likely a shot gun and a rifle, probably a Mossberg and Remmington and 45's in the other."

I strained my eyes trying to see if there was any movement behind the big picture window, but the distance and the lighting was against me.

"Mr. Revenooer man," I called over to the Fed who'd rescued me and David last night - not that to my mind I'd needed much rescueing, but I had to give him that he hadn't known that kin were on the way at the time. I knew the old deragotory name for a BATF agent might jerk his chain - he certainly wasn't one and I also knew enought to know that he was well more than just a HIRT shooter too. "Thank you for being here" I'll let him chew on that for awhile."

David nodded, cracking open the first case. He pulled out the Mossberg 500 pump action shotgun, pulling the heft up to his chest, and giving it a quick once over. There was a box of shells in the case, but he could tell from the weight that it already had a loaded magazine. He placed the shotgun down on the hood of the Jepp, and popped open the pistol case, pulling out one of the Colts. He noticed the compensator sitting on the end of the barrel, and was sure that wasn't where it ended. He pulled out a magazine, slid it in, and yanked back the slide, the action seeming smoother than normal. "Nice," he said with a slight grin, and situated it in his belt line so it would be easy to draw, but wouldn't be falling loose.

He pulled the shotgun down, and grabbed the extra box of shells out of the long case. He placed them at his knee, and stood up, still hunched, behind the Jeep. He brought the shotgun up to his shoulder, and began to cover the face of the house, looking for any one to pop up. He knew at this distance, the Mossberg wouldn't offer any major damage, the pellets having over reached their spread, but most people ducked when getting shot at anyways, and would give Three a chance to drop back, or move in if that was the case.

"You doing ok back there?" he spoke softly back to Jonni Lea, knowing how she felt. He knew first hand it was never fun to be the one left out when the action started.

"You doing ok back there?"

I nodded and replied softly "Yes." The knot in my stomach was growing ever stronger. I was silently p[arying to the mountain that my new fears were unfounded. I'd almost welcome seeing Johnny Lee diving aside to avoid a storm of bullets, but as he moved up past the squaddie and then the 'lance with no reaction from inside I knew with sickening certainty that they weren't.

The radio newsie had spoken of masked men and that was just so much a crock. Maybe at the bank, but here...it's wasn't men, it was worse.

I watched Johnny Lee swing the screen door wide, then pause a heart beat and open the front door. There was nothing tenative about his moves, but he froze as the door swung wide. Then then he was taking a step back and useing handsign to call in the rest of us. And I could tell by the signs of tension in the set of his shoulders and the jerkiness of his movements he was upset - and that'd be putting it mild.

I wasn't sure if David was familiar with the hand signs we used, so I translated "Go, David " My voice was soft.

I turned to the Lady FBI agent and asked her "Would you walk up with me? I'm going to be a little bit slow with this gimp.."

I knew that the one with the Arctic Warfare Super Magnum would be up there as fast as possible for him, but I didn't know if the lady Fed has seen true horror.

I didn't know if either of us should have to see it, but I knew that I was going to. I am a First Responder, among my other qualifications, and even more these were my friends and neighbors.

My head drops from the scope to rest against the roof of the truck I'm prone atop. Whatever it is. I haven't really been paying attention. I rise up to a knee and spring forward. I land on my feet and walk off the slight impact.

I safety the SM and sling it, then motion for Dana to assist Jonni Lea. I take the SD up and take off at a sprint. I probably should have taken the Pettimore girl up myself, but I needed to see this. To know how badly I've failed.

I'm faster than I look, and I'm at the house considerably quicker than would have been expected, considering the load I was carrying. Practice, don'tcha know. I've also had practice at viewing atrocities. They're dime-a-dozen in hell.

I hope I never become used to them, though...because then I'll stop being human. That'd be a bit of a bitch. I look at Pettimore, my face still beneath the neck gaiter. I really don't need this today, but...my opinion never has counted for much. Until I back it up with bullets.

Which I expect I'm going to have to do sometime these days. If I can find the bastards. Which I will. I will.

Johnny Lee drew a deep breath, a harsh hurting sound. He didn't want to go in but he knew he had to. He didn't give a damn about contaminating a crime scene.

The body of Danny Roscoe, still in the civies he'd been wearing the night before, lay some five feet partially inside the front hallway, the other half inside what had once been the main parlor of the old farm house. He hadn't been able to se it from the outside due to some peices of furniture blocking it from sight.

Two steps and he was in, the heavy copper scent of blood and worse filling his nostrils. He checked the main parlor, peacefully enpty save for the furniture...and the ghosts he knew this house would hold forever.

Left, driectly opposite the opening on to the parlor, lay what had once been the farms master's office. The heavy dual pocket doors were closed, but silence lay as heavy there as it did over the whole house.

Directly at the end of the short front hall was the large activities room. Once it had been the formal dining room, with a large modern sun porch attached. He wasn't going to go further though for the moment.

Ivan had caught the signal of the Third and had headed in, safetying the rifle as he went. While it might be easier to sling the gun as it was unlikely for Johnny Lee to call them up when shooting could break out, it was better safe than sorry.

He observed the others, deciding the Fed was someone he'd dislike dealing with. He knew the house was empty or blood-soaked, would prefere the former and was certain about the latter.

Death wasn't anything new to him, but never appreciated.

David rose to his feet from behind his crouch, and moved around the front of the Jeep. He glanced left and right, out of habbit, and then began to move forward. He kept crouched over, the shotgun pointed barrel down, but pulled into his shoulder. He kept his eyes forward, watching the house for any shooters to pop up. He hadn't done much combat in the Gulf, but enough to know how to handle himself. His movement was clean and purposed, and he arrived next to Three moments after he had given the signal to move up.

No shots were fired as the impromptu team joined Johnny Lee up at the house, there was no one left alive to do so.

Atrocities may be a dime a dozen in hell but on the whole they weren't in America. and especially when it involved children. And this one did.

********************************************

I let the FBI lady help me up the long drive, but taking it only moderately slow. There were more important things than my stitches right now. I stopped at the 'lance and grabbed a box of disposable gloves, shaking my head sadly at the damage the fullisade of rounds had done to it. I'd worked on this one more than a few times, it was ineviatable, the entire county only had two plus the two makeshift ones the volunteer units maintained.

Then I gimped on making it the porch last of all.

"Ya'll might want to put these on." I said softly to the group that stood in the front hall, holding out the box. Johnny Lee, Nathan and the Hunter - thats how I was thinking of him -had already gone in deeper, but they knew not to touch things. The smell of blood, and other things permeated the air, making it hard to breath.

Resolutely I loooked around, taking no pleasure in seeing Danny Roscoe's mutilated body. I went in deeper, heading directly to the acitivies room. I knew that was the room they used for keeping the kids corraled and occupied in - when they weren't on the small play area out back.

This back area was a part of the original foundation and was two steps down from the front of the house. It was a spacious room, a large fire place at one end, tv at the other, and had been modernized with large sliding doors leading out to the back porch with it's half flight of stairs leading down to the back of the property. The blood was drying and hard to see against the dark, fake oak panneling, but the light curtains that covered the slding glass doors showed it off dramaticallly.

I steeled myself and looked down. It took every ounce of self control I had not to cry out, and also not to throw up. I didn't know it as I stumbled down the steps that tears had begun pouring down my face, that they had been gathering since I had stepped in the front door. I went to the nearest child, frantic to find any telltale of life. My mind knew I wouldn't, the cold clinical part of me looked at the body and cataloged what had been done, but that wasn't the part of me in control at the moment. The remains were cold, life having fled some time ago.

I walk through the house like a ghost, my breath catching in my throat seemingly almost every other footstep. Unlike Jonni Lea, I hadn't made a beeline for where the kids likely were -- that wasn't what I was looking for.

I systematically clear each room in the house, sweeping through with my SD braced against my shoulder. Finally, i arrive in the back room, and turn my head away from the sight I see.

I flick the SD's safety on, and bring my hand to my mouth, biting into the back of my thumb. It helps, a bit, but not much.

I'm thinking of a friend of mine, an Israeli. One of the scariest, most ruthless bastards I've ever met. I'm wondering what would happen if he was here with me, and I decide that it'd be about the same. The people responsible for this would be hunted to the ends of the earth and killed in a truly horrible manner.

I suppose it'd be enough.

Then I sigh and take out my cellphone. Then I realize that I haven't the vaguest idea what numbers I needed and slip the cell back into its carrier.

Crap.

I slump back against the wall and rest my head in my hands, trying vainly to calm my breathing. I succeed to an extent, but I don't feel the calmness that usually follows. Not surprising. Things like this tickle my sense of vengeance. I suppose that I should be planning to bring the bastards before a court, but...

I'd stop caring a while ago...now, I dunno. It wasn't that I thought that the people responsible for this were animals...I respect animals. All that liberal nonsense about the innate morality of the human being is just that - nonsense.

Cruelty is a human concept. Then again...so is vengeance.

Either way. Our complexities made us worse than beasts. Such is our curse.

David's movements inside the house were deliberate, sweeping each room with the pump action, clearing it for shooters as he moved. He stayed close to Jonni Lea, she wasn't combat ready, and anyone left in the house would present a real problem, one that she wouldn't be able to solve easily. They entered the main room with the children, and Jonni Lea broke down. David just continued his overwatch. He checked the room for hidden shooters, in closets or behind furniture, and found none. His gaze went back to the children.

David would try, but he just couldn't feel bad. He remembered it like it was just a short period back. Sitting over one of Saddam's mass graves, the pit in the earth filled with Kurds. Dead Kurds. One of the men in his unit was vommiting. Another had his eyes stung with tears. David looked down, his look soft, and hurt. But the words the noncom spoke rang true. "They're dead, you aren't, don't get down on yourself."

It was true. There but for the Grace of God he thought, looking down at one of the corpses. It could have been him. Instead, he just watched the doorway, looking for any movement, anyone else who would cause problems.

ohnny Lee had sent Nathan to check the upstairs, and Sam out to check the laundry room and converted garage - it had been a stables, then a garage and now, in it's latest incarnation, was houseing the small Jewish communitie's temple. He himself took the down stairs.

The large basement was empty of any bodies, but not of evidence. It was known fact that back before the civil war the farm had been a stop on the Underground RailRoad, and that there was a tunnel, partially man made, partially natural. He'd suspected that the tunnel had its entry in the basement and it while it was not easy to find where eventually he did. The old trick of a table built in to a wall that is actually a pivot out door leading to a concealed room - the wood had warped over time and the secret door was ever so faintly misalligned.

He checked for booby traps as carefully as he could, and found none visable, but that didn't mean, he full well knew that there weren't some he couldn't see. He jogged back upstairs.

"Yoren, come on down here" He called to the Special Agent slumped against a wall. "I've found the door to where the tunnel starts...I think."

I check each broken body, carefully, professionally. It's the only shield I have, other than David's quiet presence. I'm glad he's there and yet obscurely guilty that he has to wittness such horror. I shouldn't have brought him into this.

I would not let myself keen the way I wanted to, to howl in fury to the uncaring sky.

I knew better than to disturb the way the bodies lay, scattered about like so much chaff, knew better than to reposition limbs, or close wide open eyes, though I ached to close them.

I'd learned all the proper things to do for a murder scene courtesy of Uncle Sam during my time as an MP. But during that time I'd never ben involved in a murder investigation. I'd seen death, then and later here and there, but those deaths had all been accidents. Vehicular- oh multiple car wrecks of varying ghastliness, a hiker lost in the mountains and dead of exposure, another that had gone over a cliff, and many others. Bobbi Lee and I were the best known SAR team in the state. And since I'd come home, we'd been called out plenty of times.

But this was differnt, so vastly different that it was indescribable.

I keep my neck gaiter up to hide my manic grin. It was a...character trait. Something that was fairly common amongst my...type. It was a sort of highly-developed devil-may-care attitude that came over you when the shit got really bad. It was in these cases that the magic happened.

When you've got nothing left to lose, the only thing left to do is live. That and kill as many motherfuckers as you can. I haven't quite reached that point yet -- this hasn't affected me -personally- yet. Y'see, in order to really, officially, get that way, you have to lose everything important to you.

I haven't had anything to lose for a long, long time.

Still don't. My career's a joke, and I don't even know if I'm capable of a real relationship with another human being anymore. I doubt it.

Then Johnny Lee saya something about a tunnel, and I push myself off of the wall and head on downstairs to take a look myself.

I take my taclight from the jumpbag and shine it around the seam of the door, then I open a pouch on my belt and take a few pieces of what were effectively scotch tape on a large scale and lift a few prints, or what might have been prints. I dunno. I'm mostly on autopilot right now, and it seemed like the right thing to do.

Because I wasn't going to bother with gathering evidence along the way. Not when my life was on the line.

I drop the strips into a plastic baggy, then into my jump bag, then I bring the SD up to my chest-level and let my thumb ride the safety. Then I turn to face Johnny Lee with an eyebrow quirked.

"You want to lead, or should I? Or do you have another idea?"

I'm not thinking, right now. Go figure.

Johnny Lee smiled sourly as Yoren pressed the tape to the edges of the 'door' and tossed them in a baggie.

"Son, you really need a break" He rumbles under his breath.

"You want to lead, or should I? Or do you have another idea?"

Cold eyes surveyed the younger man, seeming to look deeper into his soul than most.

"How about neither. If these a trap on the other side, when we open that door... The pivot points are here" Johnny Lee indicated that the door swung on top and bottom pins rather that hinges. "The doors thick enough...I think. Lets use it as a shield and then if it doesn't blow up in our faces, you can go through first. I think you need to kill something worse than I do."

There is nothing condemnatory or condescending in his face or voice, though maybe, just maybe there is the faintes hint of compassion and there is certainly a shared understanding.

David kept silent as Jonni worked. He knew enough fo field combat medicine, but there was nothing he could do for this. Instead, he kept his silent watch, waiting for any to come through, or, if the paramedics arrived, to get them updated.

He heared Three call out for the Fed, something about a tunnel, and he let them go. He was tempted at first to follow, but he was needed here, someone needed to keep the overwatch. He could also tell they needed it, they needed to go kill or shoot or stab or cut. It was most likely in their nature, something about those guys alway reaked of we need revenge. Anyways, it would give him some leverage if they ever needed the Fed gone. David had never been to law school, but he knew about limitations and rights, something that he was sure that the Fed would be violating quite a bit. Besides, Three and his boys were all ex-snake eaters. David had been a grunt ground pounder for four years.

Instead, he just stood, watching over the silent room, a play center turned grave yard. He looked down at the bodies, wishing there was some way to help, but knowing it to be impossible.

I finished checking for signs of life, though I had known from the start I would find none. I stand, stripping off the fouled gloves and scrubbing my face hard, trying to distance myself some little bit, and I can't. A trembling started deep inside me and I half stagger to where David stands rock solid, a guardian.

I find I can't speak past the huge knot that seems to have invaded my throat. I swallow heavily a few times and manage to croak out a whisper "David.." Then manage a bit louder as my stomach churns violently "David, help me, get me outside"

I know I am seconds away from throwing up, and I don't care if it makes me look weak. I'm supposed to help, to save lives...not, not abid this horror.

I can't hide the agonized horror or pleading in my eyes as I look up at him. I have to get out of here and not contaminate the scene further. And I don't think I can do it on my own.

Whoever had done this wasn't right in the head, that was Ivan's only thought as he followed Johnny Lee's instructions to check out the laundry rooms and garage. The miasma of death and blood was noxious and he'd learnt a few new uses for a couple tools, but other than that he'd failed to pick up anything that might give a clue who might have done it.

Heading out of the impromptu slaughterhouse, he wondered if anyone else had found anything useful.

David was almost spooked when Jonni came up to him. The room had been all but silent, the voice had spooked him to a new awareness. He turned, looking at Jonni, and smiled a soft smile, nodding.

David, help me, get me outside.

One look, and he knew what it was. Her face was already pale, and her eyes looking off a distance. He could hear the shake in her voice, and knew what it meant. He had been there a thousand times before, running in football, the first time he had let loose gravity and fast roped down from a hovering helicopter, the first time he had been shot at in war. He lowered the barrel of the shotgun from its ready position, and moved over to help her.

"Yeah, lets get you outa here."

"Yeah, lets get you outa here."

His smile was so careing it gave me strength. I let him support me, I knew I couldn't, not with any reliability. We got out to the clearer air, then down the steps. I lurched around the corner of the porch, going to my knees on the early winter browned lawn, trying to wave him away as everything I had today- and the last few weeks it seemed -came up in a painful rush that went on and on.

It burned my throat and smelled vile but I didn't care, it wasn't the odor of the house. I knew that house would never be rid of that, that it would sink into the very foundations, resonating back forever. The lawn was dampish I could feel it soaking into my jeans, chillling my legs but I stayed were I was.

I shake my head lightly and for a few moments contemplate blowing the silly door in place. I probably had enough plastic explosive to do it, too...

But...but. I take my badge out of my pocket and drop it on the ground. The bureau didn't have anything to do with this. I wasn't bureau at heart, never would be...that was what made me dangerous.

I smiled grimly, then took a closer look at the pivot points. Then I reached into my jumpbag and take out a small amount of Semtex. I mold the Semtex into a two small strips and snake them around the pivot lines, then daisy chain the two charges to one detonator.

Then I smile at Johnny Lee.

"So the idea is that we blow the charges, top then bottom. That'll cause the door there to drop down forwards, the way I have the charges set, anyways. That'll clear any immediate booby traps. Anything beyond that, we just have to be alert."

That'll clear any immediate booby traps. Anything beyond that, we just have to be alert."

Johnny Lee nodded and pulled a baggie from a buttpack hiddden under his jacket. He dumped it's contents into his hand, and it resolved itself into a state of the art commo unit. Belt clip booster, tiny mic that could hide on a collar and all but invisible ear bug. "Here, this will keep you in contact with Nathan and me."

He spoke spoke into the unit he wore, giving Nathan instructions to hot foot it around to the long dry well that was the tunnels exit.

He knew that if they got too deep, or too far, the radio signal would degrade into uselessness, but it had been designed for use inside buildings- the masses of steel and electrical interferance.

He handed it to Yoren, then scooped the badge off the floor, and tucked it in to a pocket. "You'll need it back at some point." He commented in his low rough voice and backed away to allow his fellow hunter to blow the door. His pistol was out and held low, but ready to come up if needed, and Johnny Lee was well versed in shooting from the hip if need arose.

The garage and it's attendant laundry room were cold and empty, looking as if they had been unused in several days. The shy was beginning to cloud up as Sam finished checking, finging nothing. When he exited, he could see Nathan and the lady FBI agent on the front porch. He could also see Jonni Lea on the ground off to the sied of the house. She was vomiting badly, with David holding her hair out of her face and making soft wordless sounds of comfort.

Nathan spied Sam and waved him over, as the Lady FBI agent headed back to the line of cars down on the street, and the growing numbers of pale faced locals who watched mostly in silence, held back from the scene by the Johnson City police and sheriffs deputies. Women were crying here and there, held by their neighbors, but obviously the full horror hadn't sunk in.

"Sam, you're with me. Three and the Fed are going in this end, and he wants us to get around and watch the exit from a distance, as back up" Nathan said and then turned, heading for the jeep that he and Johnny Lee had arrived in

"Poor Jonni." Ivan thought as he watched her empty her guts. Whatever she'd seen must have been unpleasent indeed. Catching Nathan's gesture, he walked over to see what was up.

"Roger, thought do you think we'll get there before whoever was responsible exits?" Ivan asked, before adding, "And the laundry room and garage were clean."

David stood over Jonni, holding her hair back with one hand, the other holding the shotgun midway down the barrel, and upside down. The interior of the house had been horrible, and devistating, but it hadn't effected him in the way it had the others. He had always been the one to say "better them than me."

He looked around, and watched as Nathan and another man moved off to the jeep to go elsewhere on the farm. This wouldn't be pretty for anyone they caught.

I look at the commo unit and sigh, then simply set my unit to the same frequency and waved the other set off. I didn't want to bother with changing sets or anything, and I trusted my set more than I trusted whatever off-brand crap Lee had.

Then I step back a few steps and drop my thumb onto the detonator. There was a rapid pair of blasts, then the door caved in. I don't have time to listen for any sympathetic explosions or traps triggering, because I'm rushing through the smoke and into the tunnel with my SD leading.

My feet barely seem to touch the ground, but I've taken enough time to flick my taclight out and on, and it's aimed down at a minor angle, so that I can spot any tripwires. I'm fast enough that I'd dodge any idiot traps, though.

I don't have time to make sure that Lee follows me. But I'm not worried...not worried. I wasn't going to try and argue, and I trusted myself to shoot first and not to miss. Ta-da.

"Roger, thought do you think we'll get there before whoever was responsible exits

Nathan didn't answer until they reached the batter jeep and had jumped in behind the wheel.

"Fraid not, doesn't feel like he hung around." The jeeps engine, far better kept that the exterior orared to life and he concentrated for a moment on getting past the crowd of still stunned onlookers. "This wasn't the Aryan Brotherhood, it's just not their style. No, this is some sort of blood challenge, a glove slapped in our face."

He gave Sam a fierce look. "And Johnny Lee won't rest until it's done."

The drive took them nearly five minutes once they'd gone back off road, for the land was rough and getting wilder. "I've never been to where this well is supposed to be, though I know it's general location. Look for the remains of an old burned down cabin, all thats supposed to be left is a chimney and a huge twisted oak, lightening split...and listen to the hairs on the back of your neck."

I borrowed strength for David and managed to stand, my body touching his. Every breath I took out in the open air freed my soul from the horror and blew the smell from my lungs. After a moment I looked about, looking at the squad car and the ambulance a second time. We'd all passed them, soncentrating more on the house than them, even if I had stopped for a box of latex gloves. What I was seeing made me blink, and turned towards David.

"David, you were in the Gulf, we'ren't you?" I asked him softly, then pointed to the numerous holes that pierced the sides of the vehicles.

************************

The state police and more FBI were beginning to arrive, and the crowd down below beginning to panick. The FBI lady had was heading back down the long winding drive way to deal with them.

Johnny Lee was just far enough back to let Yoren trip any wires first. He'd done plenty of tunnels in Nam.

But there were no traps, just a small room with mostly acrid, stale air - long unused air with the faintest hint of some corruption, a nearly sewage smell, blended with dank earth. The floor too held layers of dust, save were somethign recent had moved through it, though the tracks were not disctinct foot prints, but swaths of movement as if clothing, or something heavier, had been dragged though it. Most of the tiny stone walled room was taken up by a pit of an opening, with tight, very narrow, very steep stairs of worked stone going down even more. The stairs too were free of the covering of long disuse save for at the edges where they met the worked stone of what had once been a natual cleft opening.

The lighting was non existant, save for the light that both men had brought with them, though perhaps in places there were the remians of tapes tucked in barely there nitches. But they too were covered with dust and an occassional cobweb.

The true tunnel lay at the end of those stairs and continued on for nearly a mile, and was in most places visably a naturally occuring rift cave. The ceiling height varried wildly from just above a mere four feet in height to nearly twenty in others. Some places had been dug and shored up with now ancient timbers and rough planks. Some places were too narrow for a man to pass through with out turning sidewise and crabbing through.

David stood back as Jonni Lea finished vommiting, giving her room to breath. He knew the feeling, the pain and sudden queasyness that would hit your stomach when you saw something horrible. A mix of compassion, hatred, pain, sadness. He let her breath, catching some fresh air after the contractions he knew all to well. It always hurt when something up through the down only tube. He helped her to her feet, and noticed her moving her gaze from the ground to the vehicles.

David, you were in the Gulf, we'ren't you?

David nodded, with a sudden smile. One thing the Marines gave him was great pride in what he had done and where he had been. "Yup. 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines," he answered, following her eyes to the vehicles. He too noticed the many piercings into the vehicle side.

"Didn't Three say something about MP5s? Those holes, they seem to big to be nine mill to me." He drowned off, looking at the slightly larger than expected from a nine millimeter round.

"Shit," he swore under his voice. In his head, he said something else. "Fifty?"

The blaring of sirens off in the distance yanked him from his trance. "Lets get outa here, don't wanna be here when the real feds show up," he said, softly, walking over to the Toyota they had come in on. He kept the shotgun, tossing it in the back seat, leaving the forty five tucked into his jeans.

"Didn't think so." Ivan thought to himself as the jeep headed past the crowd. "A unknown enemy, unknown goals and unknown methods? This is partially what I trained for."

"Didn't imagine he would." Ivan replied as he began looking for the indicated landmarks, and keeping prepared against any ambushes or traps.

"Lets get outa here, don't wanna be here when the real feds show up,"

"I can't stay for this, though later..." My voice trailed off as I gimped after him feeling better by the moment as we moved back to the Land Cruiser. I slid in the door he opened for me, then reached over as he got setted in and slid the forty five out of his jeans, laying it in my lap. Bobby Lee stretched over from where he'd waited impatiently in the back seat and licked my cheek, whining unhappily.

"Don't want to lose something important." I joked feeblely and answered his earlier question "Yeah, he did, and those holes are way too big, aren't they?"

It wasn't really a question, and I scrubbed my face, already exhausted by the day.

"David, are you hungry?" I didn't think he'd be put off by my being suddenly starving, but I'd managed, in the walk back down the hill, to put the images, that I knew I'd carry forever, down in the quiet place that hid deep inside me. I'd have nightmares later but for the moment my body was being practical. Then my stomach growled, and that brought a blush to my cheeks.

'If I'd had my gear with me we could keep in touch with Johnny Lee and the others." I shook my head at my lack of planning. "David, this isn't how I'd intended our weekend to go." I half apologized.

David nodded. "Something up with this, its a bit more than just some redneck shooter."

David carefully moved the Land Cruiser away from the site, passing a number of squad cars when they were further down the road. He had the radio on to a local station, listening to the news reports and updates of the shooting.

If I'd had my gear with me we could keep in touch with Johnny Lee and the others. David, this isn't how I'd intended our weekend to go.

"Ya can't worry about stuff like that. Ya never knew someone was going to shoot up a Jewish community center. I wouldn't worry much, Three can take care of himself, and that other fed," he said with an air of disdain and suspiscion, "can handle themselves," he spoke softly, trying to comfort Jonni. He was more concentrated on driving and making sure no one would think him suspect, leaving the same general area where a major shooting had just occured.

David, are you hungry?

"Yeah," he commented, watching as two squad cars came screaming around a sweep in the road. He slid over, letting them more room to move. "I got some food back at my shop, should probably head back anyways, make sure I don't have any customers or anything, plus get some stuff I could use," he added on at the end, thinking of any goodies he had back at the shop.

"I got some food back at my shop, should probably head back anyways, make sure I don't have any customers or anything, plus get some stuff I could use"

"I've taken up so much of your time, and you've been so good to me, I can't thank you enough." I said softly, trying to find a way to apologise for taking him into such a horror, and knowing there is no way.

"I was thinking of the MC Dinner" Mentioning the better of our tiny town's two diners "but your place sounds nicer. I'd like to cook something for you, if you'll let me."

The police cars ignored us, and I relaxed. David made the drive back to Mountain City seem easy on the roads that were just coming slick on a misting of rain. He was a better than merely good driver, handling the heavy vehicle easily on the more often than not treacherous roads of 67 as it ran north to join with 421 where a right turn would take us the mile or two into Mountain City.

"Well I'm out of the race tonight, you'll just have to take my place and uphold the Mountains honor."

David nodded. "Well, it would probably be better to go to the diner. All I have is microwave dinners and some milk and booze," he chuckled as the made thier way into town.

I've taken up so much of your time, and you've been so good to me, I can't thank you enough.

"Eh, don't worry about it. I woulda been doing something stupid if I wasn't with ya anyways. Its better for me," he laughed. He piloted the Toyota towards the MC Diner. It would be good to get something better than a microwaved mannicoti in him for once, and to sit down in a real resteraunt, not eat in the garage.

Oil usualy made food taste funny, anyways.

Its better for me,"

The revelation of a real bachelors fridge full made me grin. "Okay Diner it is now, but when we get a chance I'm cooking you my famous baked ham, and all the fixin's."

The rain hadn't gotten much heavier than a strong mist by the time we pulled up in front of the diner, and there were a lot of locals who turned and looked at us as David opened the door for me. Bobby Lee lept out behind me, technically he shouldn't come in but no one had ever said anything. The small tv was showing live coverage of the State police and Feds pouring into the Jewish Community Center. One of the news vans had finally figured out that the fire at the old barn near the Joahson City school was just a diversion. Damn all reporters!

When my neighbors got a look at my face they collectively let out a sigh of sorrow, and turned away to give David and I some space. They knew already that we'd been in before the current live action.

I swallowed hard, knowing I had a duty that transcended my selfish wish that I didn't have to.

As David slid into one of the empty booths I saw the Mary, the manager turn off the tv. She was Meemaws age and one of the Mountain City matrons. Her sad but firm eyes wouldn't let me shirk.

Taking a deep breath I began a roll call of the names of the women, the teen girls and the children. Ending with "Daniel Roscoe's body was there too. Johnny Lee thinks the killers entered and left through the old underground rail road tunnel. He's checking it out now." I didn't need to let them know that Johnny Lee wouldn't rest until this was dealt with. Those here in the diner were natives, mountain folk to the core, and they knew just what that meant to us, to us all.

There were soft sounds of horror and sympathy, some women headed for the back and the diners office - all through out the area relatives would be notified, meals for the victims families planned...all the other minuta surrounding a deaths, but this made harder, so much harder the deaths of children. Some of the men had tears rolling silently down weathered cheeks.

"I...I wish I knew more." I said before I sat down.

"If they need to track them, they may need my hounds" one volunteered.

"I'll go open up the hall, and call Tucker down in Johnson, every one gather there as they can." The mayor stood and headed out the door to call his brother in laws cousin, the Mayor of Johnson City. This would be nothing official, we wouldn't bring in any outsiders if we could help it. and the media would be thoroughly shunned.

I looked blankly at a menu for a moment, then shook myself, setting it all aside again. "Do you like waffles David? I think I'm going to end up cooking for you anyway."

I'd noticed that the cook had headed for the back office along with the other women, and it wasn't as if I was a stranger to the dinners kitchen. I'd worked for them for a time not that many years ago, and still knew my away around the compact space.

Ivan was watching for the likely tree and spotted one that looked like a likely candidate. It was one of those trees that, had it been found in Europe, almost certainly gave rise to the tales of ghosts, ogres and other terrifying monsters of the night. He was observing it in full light and it still sent a faint shiver up his spine.

Once he'd had a reference point, he quickly found what was part of the building they were looking for. "Nathan, that it?" He said pointing in the right direction. He was somewhat on edge as it felt like someone, or thing, was watching them from the underbrush.

David slid into the booth as the patrons of the small dinner left to gather up friends and solve the issue at the community center.

Do you like waffles David? I think I'm going to end up cooking for you anyway.

David nodded, even though Charli had disapeared into the kitches already. He had been leaning towards something a bit meatier, but waffles would do fine. Whatever he got would be better than anything he would make back at the shop. "Yeah, waffles are great," he called back, getting comfortable in the booth.

I never did much like tunnels. Interesting that it takes me until I'm most definately in a tunnel to remember this little tidbit of pertinent information. Then again, I never did much like anything.

I stop for a tick after advancing for quite a ways, to check my commo, see if I can get a signal out. Amazingly, I can, though the quality bites. I nod my head as Dana informs me that the local FBI and state police had arrived and that she was turning over the scene to them. I said something like "Great, but this is still my fucking investigation, because they've got nothing but a shitty book and experience dealing with petty criminals." Except I probably used considerably more pejoratives and a lot of cussing, too.

Don't matter, Don't matter. I do a quick check of my gear, then, keeping my SD pointed in the general direction of 'up the tunnel, towards where I haven't been yet,' I pull my gaiter down, pull a water bottle from my jump bag, and take a long drink. That done, bottle returned, gaiter pulled up, my left hand returns to the SD's forearm and I set off again, hunting.

OOC: Shal is currently having issues with getting to a computer with an internet connection. She was on breifly on Friday, but that was it. I'm not sure when she will be back. I have no problem continuing on in here, but I have no real idea where she was taking a number of the side stories. Its really up to the rest of ya if you wanna keep going. I know I'm game, but if its just me, then we should probably put this on pause.

I checked in the walk in fridge for waffle batter, but my eyes were caught by some thick T bones, and my body screamed for protiens. I grabbed the two best looking and a handfull of hamburger patties, for Bobby Lee.

"David, how do you like your steak and eggs?" I called out as I began unwrapping them and tossing them in the grill.

"Nathan, that it?"

Nathan nodded sharply. "Aye, that's it." He let the jeep roll to a halt. He keyed the radio he wore and in a soft voice let Johnny Lee know that he and Sam had reached the exit point.

"No one visable." He noted to Sam. "But my neck is itching something fierce." He gave the woods around them a long slow assessment. "I'm going to move us a bit, so we have a better view of the well."

He shifted the jeep in gear and in a few moments had them on a small rise that gave a fair view of the well.

"No storm or prowling bear did that." Nathan ground out as he looked down at the crumbling remains of the well, a large piece of solid steel plate, nealy five foot by five foot and an inch thick, red with rust, having been torn aside.

Johnny Lee was right behind Yoren, his eyes never still as he scanned ahead. This tunnel wasa not at all like those in Nam, and he was comfortable here. Home ground had it's advantages.

He nodded and whispered an affirmative to Nathan when he recieved the message that his partner had arrived at the well. He was certain that whatever they chased was long gone.

"Agreed, it feels like there's something lurking in the nearby woods out of sight." Ivan replied as he did his own survey of the treeline, at both the base and brought of the trees. People did have an annoying tendency to climb trees at times.

Nathan's comment brought his attention to the steel plate, "And if that was the work of one man, I'd not want to meet him in a dark alley." He replied as it would've taken considerable strength to force it aside.

David, how do you like your steak and eggs?"

David nodded in agreement, looking forward to a breakfast better than cold cereal and milk, with the hope of coffee. Steak and eggs, with waffles, and some syrup, with a nice tall glass of fresh OJ would be better than any meal he had eaten in the past three years.

"Uh, steak well. Eggs over easy or fried, either way is good for me. Hell, anything that comes out from back there is gonna be better than anything I could cook at my place."

Hell, anything that comes out from back there is gonna be better than anything I could cook at my place."

"Well? " I made sure my comment on that went unheard. To me well was a waste of a good steak, but to each their own preferences. I mashed the ground chuck patties into one lump and set it on for Bobby Lee. The waffle batter went on to the griddle and I cracked up five eggs, two for me and three for David.

While the steaks sizzled, I brought over a pitcher of OJ, a glass of whole milk and insulated caraffe of coffee. "Here you go for starters"

The rest of the diner had cleared out, as the regulars hurriedly finished their meals- or couldn't look at them further - and went to start taking care of what they deemed necessary to wipe the horror I'd told them of from their hearts. We were a close knit people, and what hurt one hurt all.

When the steaks and eggs were ready, his well, mine rare I laid the full plates on to the table and set Bobby Lee's on the floor. Sliding in across from him, I quietly dipped my head in prayer.

David bowed his head along with Jonni Lea, and began to speak quietly.

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

The words left his lips almost a silent whisper, barely audible above the remaining few sounds of the diner.

David had said the prayer more times than he could count, praying that St. Michael, the Archangel, would watch over him in battle. To this point, he had never really known the purpose of the prayer or what its words had meant. He had assumed that it was in defense of a warrior, he had prayed it with his team before every game, and his drill instructor in the Marines had made everyone memorize it. Today, deispite his stoic look and reaction to the massacre, he knew what it meant, seeing true evil.

He almost added a "Mary, Queen of Victory, Pray for Us," but caught himself before hand, remembering this wasn't before a game or battle, and crossed himself. He nodded once more, out of habbit, and looked up at the food.

"Damn," he said, a smile crossing his face, "this looks good." He grabbed the knife, cutting through the meat, and taking a good sized bite. He chewed quickly, yet allowing himself to enjoy the taste, and swallowed. "Shit, I haven't had meat this good since high school." He cut the eggs, taking in more of the food, washing it down with the juice. He smiled up at Jonni, thanking her with his facial expression, then taking in more food.

My lips work, but no sound comes out. Because it probably would have sounded a little odd to hear somebody like me murmuring a prayer to a patron by the name of Robert E. Lee. Plus even an idiot conspiracy theorist could make a basic guess as to my background given that name. So I just mouth the words.

My estimate places me at near three quarters through the stupid tunnel, but I might be off. My usual sense of location gets skewed when I'm underground. 's an issue, but...mreh. I'm still alive, aren't I? Yeah, I am. 'n the other guys are all dead.

I increase my pace just a bit, because I'm starting to feel cramped. I'm not -exactly- claustrophobic, but I'm not entirely -not,- either. Most of the time it doesn't bother me...but sometimes, times like this...

Well, even if you weren't claustrophobic at all, you'd be a little nervous. Right? Right. Nervousness was healthy. It showed that I was still sane. I still believe that it's a good thing that I'm alive, and I'm not, just yet, willing to die.

Which means that, generally, the other guy has to die. So that I may live. Makes sense...

"And if that was the work of one man, I'd not want to meet him in a dark alley."

Nathan nodded as his eyes scanned the woods around them and he eased out of the jeep with his rifle in hand. "Nor would I." He replied quietly. He noted that Sam didn't confine his sweep to ground level, and he approved of the younger man's smarts.

"I don't think one man could have lifted, hell, tossed it aside." Nathan's own sweep took him back to look at the massive steel plate. "That just weighs too damn much."

"Shit, I haven't had meat this good since high school."

"David thats the nicest compliment I've had in a long time!" My smile answered his, growing larger at the blissfull expression on his face. It made the total awkwardness of cooking one handed and the occasional pain - when I forgot and tried to use my left hand -all worth while.

I shivvered as I flashed back for a second to the blood splattered walls of the Jewish Community Center as I cut into my rare steak, then forced the horror from my thoughts. I could only eat about half of the T bone though, and gave the rest to Bobby Lee, concentrating on the eggs and the waffle.

Once we'd mostly finished I pulled out something I'd quietly palmed, then tucked into a pocket back at the scene of the killings. I closed my eyes briefly, the heart wracking pain twisting me anew, as I noted that my jeans and hiking boots had traces of blood and worse on them from where I'd crouched by the small, so small mutilated bodies to check for signs of life. When I opened my eyes it felt like a fire was burning in me, an anger...no a fury that went soul deep.

"David I need your help."

"Agreed, only way I could think of it being shifted by one person would be either vehicle assisted or explosively assisted. Might be a combination of the two which could merit checking the ground for tire tracks." Ivan commented as he grabbed his own firearm and exited the vehicle in much the same manner as Nathan. Nathan was the 'native guide' so to speak and when in Rome...

David was carefull to not directly tear into the food, but it had been far to long since he had eaten anything real. He mixed the waffles with the egg yoke, swallowing another bite. The steak went down perfectly, washing down the dark meat with OJ.

He looked up, and could see it clearly in her eyes, a burning fire that he had seen before. He cleared out his mouth with teh OJ, swallowing again.

David, I need your help.

David paused for a short moment, then nodded.

"Anything."

"Anything."

I gave him a long intense stare, judging my ready trust in him, his steadfastness of the night before, and nodded slowly. I kept my voice low even though the front half of the diner was now deserted save for us. "It's outlaw work David. Not legal in the least and way past local into full out Imperial Entanglements. Far bigger sharks than we'll ever be and they're the type to kill the messenger just for the hell of it. It was supposed to be Johnny Lee and Nathan dealing with them, not me. but now..."

I shook my head. I wanted to be here to help in the hunt, set things right,but this was just as vital. A schedule had been set and to not keep it would have consequences that would be more likely than not to be ...permanant. Fatally so.

Johnny Lee and Nathan and the boys would be best here - though they had trained me well, I was not as trained as they, and injured too boot. No, I knew the contacts as well as Johnny Lee did, and I was the best driver. With David to roll as the prowl car and me to drive the rig we could make the planned rendevous.

It's outlaw work David. Not legal in the least and way past local into full out Imperial Entanglements. Far bigger sharks than we'll ever be and they're the type to kill the messenger just for the hell of it. It was supposed to be Johnny Lee and Nathan dealing with them, not me. but now...

"Well," David responded, cooly, "legality has never stopped me before. Not that I remeber, at least."

He took another bite of the eggs, finishing them. A quick swig of the OJ, and a pause to think.

"And if Three was supposed to handle it. Well. I won't pretend to be anything I'm not. He's seen more combat in darker jungles and deeper hells in one week in his service than I would have seen in my entire carrer. But I know my way around a shoot out and battle zone, and I can put the hurt down when I need to."

He took the final bite of steak, and looked deep into Jonni's eyes. "So, just tell me what ya need me to do."

So, just tell me what ya need me to do."

"I trust you, David, to be just what I need." I couldn't help the words that tumbled so honestly from my lips, but I didn't blush. "For this though, I need you to drive escort and be back up at the drop point. We aren't expecting trouble, but we always prepare for the worst. Lets check in at your place. We can go over the plans later tonight. It feels like the swelling in my left hand has gone down some, but I may want to change to an easier route for me to drive. We have to be rolling no later than noon tomorrow to make the drop in New Jersey at the prearranged time."

I finished my breakfast and stood to pile the empty plates up and take them to the wash room. I was pleased to note that he'd enjoyed the meal. I liked to cook but cooking for one was often too much trouble.

Might be a combination of the two which could merit checking the ground for tire tracks."

Nathan nodded at Sams conclusion's. "Though I'd think explosives would have buckled that sheet metal. And from here it doesn't look warped. Once Three come up we'll check that out. But right now we're overwatch."

"A shaped charge, ya, properly used plastique, maybe not." Ivan replied as he could think of a couple ways to blast the plate so it could be moved more easily by a truck without warping it. "I wonder how Johnny's doing in that tunnel with the fed." He mused, partially to himself, partially out-loud.

About as expected, there weren't nobody around. Oh, I betcha the forensics kids could do a better job, and from I'd gathered, Dana already had the entire house roped off and the forensics kids were going at things with theirs fine-toothed combs.

I arrive at what can only be the other end of the tunnel, because I was faced with a sheer wall and some crappy-looking hand-holds going up into light. I safety the SD and draw my 1076. I can't expect to hit shit firing the SD one-handed, but I can climb a ladder one-handed, more or less, and I can shoot one-handed, too...

I set my free hand into a hand-hold as far above my head as I can reach, then haul myself up, my feet slotting into convenient locations, and my off-hand, my left, bracing the 1076 pointed generally upwards...

It was still suicide, if I emerged amongst enemies...but...

Then I smack my head into the rock, lightly, because I'm not working with professionals. Fuck it. If they're up there, I'm dead anyways...

"COMING OUT, AND SO HELP ME GOD IF THERE IS A GUN POINTED IN MY FACE, I'M GONE GIVE YOU A THIRD EYEHOLE!"

Climbing...climbing...

For this though, I need you to drive escort and be back up at the drop point. We aren't expecting trouble, but we always prepare for the worst. Lets check in at your place. We can go over the plans later tonight. It feels like the swelling in my left hand has gone down some, but I may want to change to an easier route for me to drive. We have to be rolling no later than noon tomorrow to make the drop in New Jersey at the prearranged time.

David finished the last of his breakfst, and stood, helping Jonni with the dishes. "Getting out by noon wont be a problem, I usually get up around seven, so I should definately be ready to roll by noon. I'll need to make sure the Galant is ready to roll, I can run some diagnostics on it tonight, make sure its boosting well, check the tires and such."

As he dumped the contents out of a near empty cup of juice, he felt the weight of the 1911 weigh down on his jeans. "I can also grab some extra ammo, I got some twelve gauge rounds and a few boxes of .45ACP. I also have a box of 9mm +P rounds for my Beretta. I can bring that along for back up."

He sprayed the syrup of his waffle plate. "If you wanna stay at my place, you can. I can crash on a couch in the waiting room of the shop."

"If you wanna stay at my place, you can. I can crash on a couch in the waiting room of the shop."

"David, I'm not going to kick you out of your bed" I gave him a grinning look as we worked together to clean up the dishes. "I need to go get the detail maps and such. Let me get Midnight Blue, make some calls and I'll be back around dark." That would give me about four hours, let David have some time to think. "Then if you want I'll take you up to the armory and you can pick up any gear you think you might need."

I had no qualms about taking him up to one of our sites, especially after dark. "You don't have to provide your own fire power or ammo."

"I wonder how Johnny's doing in that tunnel with the fed."

Nathan snickered under his breath as an unintelligible but loud voice echoed faintly up from the well. "I think we're about to find out." He moved foreward, to within about ten feet from the well mouth, and seconds later the Fed and then Johnny Lee clambered out of the pit.

"Seems that way." He replied as he joined Nathan relatively near the edge of the well while the Fed and Lee climbed out. While watching with one eye the well, he kept another one out for signs of possible ambush as now would be the time to spring it if he were running the show.

You don't have to provide your own fire power or ammo.

"That works," Daivd said, washing off the last dish. It would be nice to check out a somewhat decent stash, as he assumed the Pettimore's would have. Maybe some nice new rifles or handguns. He could use a good upgrade beyond his service Beretta that was all but broken due to his demand of using the higer powered overpressure rounds.

He dried off his hands, and looked over at Jonni.

David, I'm not going to kick you out of your bed.

The words resonated in his head again, and he looked down at hey eyes, smiling. He took a breath, pushing past his own natural quietness. "Ya know. You can still crash at my place and not kick me outa bed."

I grunt as I pull myself up out of the well and drop the 1076 into its holster. No safety, you understand. I don't rise fully from the sorta half-crouch I'm in until I catch my breath. Climbing a ladder with only one hand is a minor bitch.

Then I tap my comm unit, checking in with Dana. Still processing. Right. Whatever. These civilian fucks made military intel look quick and accurate. Which was depressing on entirely too many levels to contemplate.

I settle down a bit and rise to my feet.

"Well, that was a glorious waste of time. We have a fairly good hunch as to where the fuckers were, at one point in time, but we unless you two have turned up some convenient tire treads, we've got fuck-all to work with."

I turn my eye to the lid of the well.

"You two do this? No...there'd have been shooting down there if this'd been you. Messy, messy, messy. Whoever they've got doing their demo is a menace to himself and others. You shouldn't have needed but a thin bit of C4...Semtex, more likely, to pop whatever rust-seal was on this thing, then a big old wrecking bar to lever it up..."

I kick the stupid thing, which would have hurt if my boots didn't have safety toes. If they hadn't had safety toes, I wouldn't have kicked the stupid thing. I'm not dumb, just professionally insulted. People like that make people like me look bad.

Which we don't need, because we do a good enough job of making ourselves look bad. We're killers, goddamnit!

"So. Now what?"

Johnny looked at the plate of rusted steel and shook his head. "That plate of steel weighs in at over five hundred pounds, but he didn't blow it. He tore it aside."

"He didn't head west, he'd have put himself in too close to the killings again. And no, we saw no fresh tire tracks coming up from the south." Nathan said as his eyes once again scanned the terrain.

"He won't go north." Johnny replied his low voice cold.

"He might" Nathan disagreed "to taunt you."

"Ya know. You can still crash at my place and not kick me outa bed."

"I know." I breathed as I leaned in and kissed him, my lips conveying my promise. I melted against him for a moment then reluctantly stepped back.

"Get the cruiser started, and I'll be right out." My voice was breathless.

Once he'd headed for the Toyota I took a deep breath and headed to the back office. When the ladies who'd gathered there to start planning looked up I held out what I had held in my palm.

"Starke's back. Tell every one to be careful. Don't let Martin and his dogs go out, not unless he hookd up with Johnny and Nathan first."

All of them had gone a little pale, some with fear and worry others with anger, when they saw the blazing red hairs and white hairs I had found. It's hard on a close knit people when one of your own goes bad. And Starke was worse than just 'bad'. He was our private, never anything so mild as a little monster. And we'd thought we were free of him.

They nodded silently at me and went back to their calling and planning.

I called Nathan on the cell and when he picked up just said one word. "Starke"

"Johnny knows."

"I'll take over the other stuff, you all take care." I said without details, but Nathan would know what details I meant. He and I may now have been able to finish one another's sentences, but we were nearly as close as Johnny and I.

"We will" Nathan replied.

"Good hunting" I signed off.

I tossed the cell phone back into my bag as I climbed in the open passenger door. "Blue is at the Boars Hole. If you'll drop me off there I'll be back by dark with dinner to boot. Then we can go up to the armory, or do you want to head there first and do the tuning on your car later?"

Nathan felt the cell phone vibrate hard against his hip and he pulled it out of the belt pack. The connection was staticy but the message from Jonnie Lea was easily understood.

"Starke"

He locked eyes with Johnni and nodded as he replied. "Johnny knows."

Once he finished he looked over at Johnny. "You or me?"

Johnny closed his eyes for a moment and began. Nathan turned away and kept guard. He didn't need to hear the story.

Please check you TG, Theao & Revenia

Ivan mentally swore at hearing the story of this Starke character. Psychopaths were annoying enought at the best of times, a psychopath with a grudge and the blinders off was worse. He'd had experiance with both types during his employment in Vympel.

One instructor in particular had had a serious hate for anyone taller than him, and while no one had ever been charged, it was common knowladge that a good portion of the drop-outs had instead dropped-dead.

He just looked over at the two natives for orders, but already was almost certain he knew what they'd be.

My eyes narrow as Johnny Lee begins talking, then the name trips something and I bite my lip. Gently, mind you, but the sensation is enough to provoke focus.

I sigh lightly and drop to a crouch, cradling my head in my hands. Not what I needed today. Not, Not, Not. I'm a killer, true enough, but I have a reason for what I do, and I don't enjoy the act of killing. I enjoy, to some extent, the rush that accompanies combat, but most people do or they wouldn't stick with it for very long.

I did what I did because if I didn't, other people, innocent people, would die. But that didn't mean that everybody in my unit and units like my unit had the same motivation. We had our fair share of sickos and real crazies, the kind of people that you don't ever want to meet anywhere, the kind of people where your hand is riding your gun if you know, or, hell, -think- that they're in the general vicinity.

I didn't know this particular nutjob, but I know his type, and the name is vaguely familiar, like I might have heard a few horror stories about him.

I rise to my feet and take a closer look at the steel plate, then I see the streaks of blood...dear god. It makes a sick sort of sense, but that a human being was capable of this...

I'm strong. Real strong. I -look- strong, but I'm stronger than I look. I've met people stronger than myself, but they're all huge men, weightlifters. No endurance.

But...I doubt that I could've done that. More specifically, I know that I wouldn't -try- and do that. If I wanted the thing off, I'd have blown it off or pulled it off with a winch and vehicle...or something.

Now I'm thinking again, and I recall the bodies I found the night prior. And...shit. I'm wondering how close this bastard had been to me. Not close enough for him to strike, apparently...it wasn't like he could of recognized me.

Oh, if he'd stayed connected in the community, he might have heard of 'Shrike' Yoren, I had a reputation...but I doubted that he did. We would know about it. Y'see, I knew I'd recognized the name from somewhere, and now I recall where.

There are two ways you get known in the Community, by being really good at what you do (and most especially by teaching others how to do it as good as you do it) or by being...well...a horror story.

We prefer to police our own, and that the bastard isn't dead means that he probably isn't 'in' anymore.

I slide my Smith from its holster and check the magazine, then drop it back into place and re-holster the pistol. Then I check the set of my fighting knife in the boot sheath and the folder in my pocket.

Then I turn to Pettimore and friends.

"So if he isn't going west, and isn't going south...that leaves east and north."

I glare at Johnny Lee and Nathan. They aren't amateurs, they should know what they're doing.

"Directions are last resort, gentlemen. First, you think of places that the target is likely to go. Does our murderous friend have an agenda? A hitlist, as it were? Or will he go lie low somewhere?"

I shake my head and massage my temples slowly.

"I know the name, but I don't know the monster. I can't even tell you what I'd do in a situation like this because I wouldn't have ever done what he did. If I needed to take out a target like that, I'd blow the damn place up. I take it that you know the prick, so...out with it. Where do you think he's headed?"

David glanced down at the clock on the Toyota's dash, and did some mental math. "I'm gonna need some daylight to get some work done on the car. Need to just make sure the maps are good for the turbo, and that the chasis isn't about to explode," he chuckled, smiling. They made small talk on the short drive to the Boar's Hole, and glanced back over at her as he rolled to a stop. As she opened the door, he placed his hand on hers, leaned over, and kissed her softly.

"Take care, I'll see ya later tonight."