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007 - A Bullet in the Back

 
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Chris




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PostPosted: Wed May 19, 2010 11:25 pm    Post subject: 007 - A Bullet in the Back Reply with quote Add User to Ignore List

He had been betrayed.

Again.

He knew it in his heart, his mind; in his gut, his bones. In every conceivable manner, he knew that he was waltzing into a trap. Why? he thought to himself. Had he grown accustomed to treachery in his old (was he already old?) age to the point that he was actually drawn to it? Received satisfaction from knowing he was worth the trouble? Or maybe, just maybe, he truly wanted to die. After all, for the past 25 years, killing had been his business. It only made sense that the favor would be returned someday.

The God of Fighting was to be crowned right here in Johannesburg, on this very day. As he arrived at the end of a claustrophobic corridor of the dingy abandoned warehouse- Nothing good can come of this, he thought- the idea of the God of Fighting tournament amused him. He was a god of war. He surmised he had killed hundreds, more likely thousands of people. Man, woman, and child. Law enforcement, terrorist, military. Politician, corporate rep, lawyer. It was just a collage of faces at this point, really. For more than two decades, he had been involved in a myriad of military operations for an almost laughable amount of factions. The United States trained him: search and destroy, hostage rescue, assassination, extortion, torture, infiltration, bombings, kidnapping, false flag activities, and a further list of extensive black ops were all over his file as an employee of the United States government. Tough luck that that file likely didn't exist anymore.

Hunt, however, had perfected him. For the Tech, he had continued his career as a hand of retribution, little known but feared all the same. But in the eleventh hour, Hunt had turned on him. Ostracized him. Pushed him out for lack of trust. At the time, he had been pissed. Now, he was just glad he didn't end up like the rest.

He let loose a half-hearted chuckle and banged his fist on the rusted metal door before him. The light above him, dim as could be, flickered annoyingly. Several muffled voices could be heard inside. A rectangular peer hole slid open and a pair of eyes squinted in the light at him.

"Who the hell is it?" the eyes asked pathetically.

"Who you're expecting," he said.

"Felix Maizer? That you?" Without waiting for a response, the eyes disappeared from the hole and the grate slid shut. A few moments passed.

Then the door opened and Felix found himself in yet another shady, dimly lit establishment. This time, unfortunately, he was surrounded by half a dozen men. Felix stood before them dressed in baggy khakis, a T-shirt, a leather vest, and a pair of shades propped up on his head of prematurely-graying dirty brown hair. He stroked his grizzled beard, wiped the sweat from his brow- goddam, it was hot in here- and surveyed the characters before him.

The six men all wore fatigues and body armor as well as ski masks. Several had automatic rifles strapped around their shoulders. He didn't bother examining the rest.

Frankly, Felix couldn't shake the feeling that he was fucked.

A casually dressed dark-skinned man wearing a black do-rag bandana strolled whistling from the shadows. Shit, it was something out of a movie. Felix instinctively reached for his puny ass .38 revolver before recognizing the man as Amare Vander, his contact in Johannesburg.

"Welcome to the less ... glittering side of the city, Felix," Vander said, grinning ear to ear, revealing sparkling white teeth. Felix would have loved nothing more than to remove each and every one of them with the butt of his revolver.

"Amare. Couldn't have asked for a warmer entrance," Felix quipped, his hand still in the vicinity of his hip holster. Vander almost seemed to read his mind. His 'charming' smile disappeared.

"Don't even think about it, Felix. I didn't call you here to kill you, anyways. Take a seat." Amare instantly produced a pair of wooden stools from beside the table- which was filled with hacksaws, hammers, and other wonderful instruments- and sat down. Felix reluctantly did so as well. "Listen carefully to what I have to say, my friend. You've become a liability to da boss," Vander began, elbows on his legs, body leaned forward and hands clasped together matter-of-factly.

"A liability?" Felix, for the first time, changed his countenance from stoic to incredulous. "I've stolen for you. I've spied for you. I've killed for you. I've done everything you've asked, and now I am a liability?"

Vander lit up a massive cigar, puffing smoke and making a scene. Felix resisted the urge to scalp him right then and there with the KA-BAR strapped beneath his khakis. "The fact is, Felix, someone of your unique... skill set... makes people somewhat- how do I say this- anxious? Yes?" Vander softly blew another excess of smoke. He stared into the ceiling for a moment, and for a second Felix thought the men around them were going to execute him right then and there like a fucking turkey shoot. But it never came. Instead, Vander simply spoke with finality: "You need to leave Johannesburg. Now. You have 24 hours before people become very upset."

And that was that. Vander flicked the cigar across the room, kicked his stool beneath the table, and stood up. Felix rose slowly, exhaling.

"So that's that?"

"That's that, Felix." Vander extended his hand. Felix snorted.

"Fuck you and your boss, Amare," he said, before turning to leave. The door shut behind him with a ruckus and Felix turned back the way he came.

The bullet in the back never came, for better or worse.
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