The truck rolled up to a remote wooded area, bits of trash randomly dotting the dirt road up the hill to a series of 3 rather old trailers. Two angled towards each other, nearly touching at the end and connected from door to door by a tin roofed wooden deck.
“Are we in the right place?” Asked Mike.
“I dunno, I don’t wanna judge, but this looks kinda shi-oh, no there’s Carl. It’s the right place.” She sighed. They stepped out and were greeted by a beanie wearing redneck in khaki shorts and an American flag shirt, holding a beer and strapped with 2 rather large handguns.
“Hey, come on in. Grab a beverage, we got snacks on the table, careful not to grab the syringe. It’s not what you think, it’s for killing people. Animal tranquilizers. You give someone a shot of this, and they’re out cold. Mix it with this shit, prescription beta blockers, they stop breathing in their sleep. Cops can find it in a tox screen if they know what to look for, but they don’t do a full autopsy for every old far that dies at home in their sleep, especially if there are no signs of break-in or theft.”
“So it looks like you…got a fairly simple setup here.” Tanner said, trying to sound polite.
“Oh don’t let the trailer fool you, I have a pretty normal home across the deck in the other trailer. Living room, Gamer PC for FPS shit, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, tinkering room, typical bachelor pad. This over here is the gun trailer. It’s just weaponry. Trailer armory, if you will. Patriotic American guns on this side, historical and Russian over here. I got AKs and ARs in just about every caliber, 5.56, 5.7, 7.62, 9mil, 300 and 8.6 blackout, 308, 12 gauge. These are some of my favorites, you got the ol 54R chambered Russian Dragunov sniper rifle, and the Fostech 12 gauge. Full auto converted, integrally suppressed 8 inch barrel, I had it gold blinged. It’s not real gold, obviously, anodized steel, but I like 2 kinds of guns. Old classic historical relics that tell a story, scratched and worn in, and modern blinged out spacegun lookin shit with all the bells and whistles. Silencer threaded, laser, infrared, magnification, red dot, flashlight, flip-down iron sights, usually a graphic or color scheme. The fostech just looks like a Gucci’d-out AK47 shotgun from a doom game or something. It’s actually the cure for depression, it just doesn’t come in a 24 hour time release, it comes in short bursts of 5-17 round mags.”
“Interesting collection.” Mike nodded.
“So, what kinda arsenal rooms you got? I bet you got a room just for a thousand yard plus gear, at least one belt fed, I know you got the big 50. I can't decide if you got like 8 guns woth 20 grand each, or a 50-60 gun collection in every flavor.”
“No, no big collection, no belt fed machine guns, no wall of sniper rifles. Just the 50, the MP5 which is new, recently stolen, little 22 rifle, and Rachel here.” Mike smiled, admiring the auto shotgun. Carl blinked a few times with a bewildered look frozen on his face.
“That’s it? Seriously? 4 guns, and one of them is a 22?”
“That one is more of a wall display for my scope. I don’t need anything else. My philosophy is to not raise suspicion. You kill with a syringe, so a gun collection is ironically not a red flag, more of a red herring, or a red white and blue flag. I kill mostly with guns, so owning a wall of them and a paper trail looks rather telling, but a 22 squirrel plinker and a personal carry 45 after my history, seems just enough. I can hide away a 50 and a MP5 fairly easily. Can’t exactly roll a gun arsenal trailer under the couch if the police knock. I do occasionally pick up a gun from a kill, use it for another kill, and leave the weapon to fuck with forensics and lead police in circles. To be honest, one of the reasons we found you interesting was that you had an arsenal. Catherine is about to start a war and I’m already on her shit list. We could use everyone we can with any moral heart left. How many guys in the group do you think would flip on her if they thought they had a chance?”
“None.” He said, looking worried. “Me obviously, but I don’t wanna take her head on, and I think Old Portland would make a stand and then get shot for it. So you’re basically looking at the potential resistance here. And I don’t wanna die going up against 50 people, serial killers, hit men, bodyguards, merchants for hire, a couple of random thugs and spray-n-pray junkies. I was hoping you had some guys, am I not joining the team here and supplying the gear for everyone?”
“This is everyone.” Tanner shrugged.
“Oh fuck me in the balls. 2 people. Yea, you guys are screwed. I won’t kill you guys, but I don’t wanna back you up if this is the whole army. I may just stick this whole war out and say a little prayer for you two when it’s over. This makes no sense. You’re Lakeshot, she’s the Mudergeisha, what happened to the others? The Back seat driver, the Molotov brothers, the bodybag killer? Who took out the cop? I heard the cop got taken out by like 3 people in some gang. Red Pandas or some shit.”
“Crimson Kings. And no. Just me.” Mike said. “Tanner distracted him, I took the kill. Molotov brothers was just me, backseat driver, all 4 kills were me.”
“Wait, so you’re just every unsolved case none of us took?” Carl asked.
“Four dead in the woods, gang shooting, 45 caliber, internet called it the ghost sharpshooter case. That’s where I got the MP5.”
“Is he joking because I can’t tell if he’s joking.” Carl said, looking amazed.
“I think he’s got like 80 kills now. You see him in action, and you start to believe the whole divine protection thing for real. It sounds insane…and then you see some insane shit and start to think it’s not.” she shrugged.
“So this whole priest thing is not a bit, you really think you’re god’s hitman? Damn. That’s kinda cold, but if half those hits were really you, I’ll keep an open mind on the god thing. I tried that 1.4 mile shot with my AR50. I emptied a whole box of quality ammo at a target and didn’t scratch it. A first try headshot? I’m good, but that shot is impossible.”
“Exactly. With God, all things are possible. I assure you, without his help, I can't make a shot that far either.” He smirked on technicality.
“IN the face. A headshot at a grand is bold, man. You just did that on faith and guessing?”
“No guessing involved. I made the round myself, I knew the drop, I chose my spot and I planned it to the letter, I knew it wasn’t a matter of chance, the bullet would land, and it did.”
“Be honest. Look me in the eyes and be dead honest. You made a bunch of shots and just landed the last one by chance, forgot one of the brass shells so they just found the one. You didn’t just do that first try.” He smirked excitedly.
“I only brought one round. I left the brass for them to find it so they would know what they were dealing with. Obviously, I had my sidearm and a full magazine in case I needed to improvise on the way back.”
“HOLY SHIT, you’re not kidding. You brought one bullet and left the brass as a flex? That is unreal. One round, no hesitation, through the head from a different frigging area code, MAN that’s confident.” He said, looking like he was gonna ask for his autograph.
“Well Those bullets are hard to make, and God told me to make one. I didn’t want to show weak faith by taking the time to make another backup round.”
“Man that’s wicked. I would love to learn your shit and God knows…sorry for the expression, that I’d love to do some real shooting at human flesh but if this is the whole team going up against Catherine, I gotta decline. You need guns, take your pick, but I don’t have the faith you do and God probably doesn’t value me enough to ensure my life like he does yours, if that’s how it works. You may be the best and bulletproof, but that doesn’t necessarily keep my ass from getting killed, no offense.”
“None taken. You’ve helped out already." Mike nodded.
“Take the Fostech, that thing’s a beast. Never jams, recoil is shockingly manageable even with slugs. Open offer.”
“I think I like my own collection. I know my own guns better than something new, and I am a creature of repetition and habit. But I also know Catherine better than most, and she has been picking off those not loyal to her slowly but surely, and the group is growing darker and darker. I highly suggest you leave town if you don’t want to join me. God wants me here, and I have work to do. When he wants me to take her out, he’ll tell me. But it’s not time yet.”
“Yea, best of luck, I might take that advice to bail, but I got a few things to do before I do. Gotta visit an old friend and say goodbye, gotta pack up a few toys and take a few days to make an excuse for work in case I come back. I like my job.
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“Hey Mike, You still want me to do recon at the meeting tonight?” Tanner asked.
“If you’re okay with it. I have ammo to make.”
“Maybe I can just bum a ride with Carl, if that’s okay? Hang out here and see the toys a little.” She insisted. “Remember, we can’t only focus on work ALL the time.”
“I trust you, can I trust Carl?” he asked, eyeing him.
“I’ll get her there safe and sound. That’s a promise.” He nodded. “I can't have your back in a war zone, but Tanner is safe with me getting to a meeting, There’s an unwritten rule about the meetings anyway.”
“Catherine makes her own rules, and she thinks she is above them herself. Be careful.” Mike said hesitantly, heading to the truck.
“Mike.” Tanner yelled. “If we’re gonna do something stupid, I may wanna go have some alone time after the meeting. So I may be late, I’ll call you if it’s gonna run past midnight, and I’ll take the van.” She insisted. He nodded in agreement and rolled down the drive as Carl watched in awe and looked over at Tanner.
“He doesn’t trust me. He must trust you a lot.” He muttered.
“He’s working on that. Actually, I may need your help with something later, are you free tonight after the meeting?” Tanner asked Carl.
“Yea, probably. What kinda help?”
“Body disposal. I gotta do this alone, but I’ll call you after. It would mean a lot. Just tell Mike we hung out after the meeting and got coffee, lost track of time. He’s not super thrilled with my off-script recreation.”
“Off the records. I get it. I’ll be around. Feel free to explore the gun trailer, anything you wanna try out, I got ammo for. I got about an hour to burn before running a persona errand myself.” He nodded. She grinned and made her way into the arsenal to pick out what she wanted to try out. As the door closed he casually walked further away and dialed his phone, looking slightly sad about it. “Yea. It’s Carl. I may have a possible shot tonight, we’re hanging out after the meeting, she wants some alone time, MAYBE without the preacher for something. Wasn’t very clear when or for what, I’ll let you know if she’s alone. Yea, he’s definitely got eyes on the meetings. He’s the real deal, no way he’s letting her in there without a 50 cal aimed at the parking lot. That’s a killbox if he goes Rambo on the church. He may even have it mapped out. Talk to you when I have more information, Cathy.” Carl sighed. He took a depressingly long breath and regretted his decisions as he made his way back inside, watching her drool over the weaponry and looking for his needle.
“The fuck did I leave that thing?” he sighed, moving his beer and just grabbing a fresh one from the fridge and a fresh clip of 9mm Makarov, laying it on the table next to his backpack and his Skorpion. He picked up his phone again. “Hey, yea it’s me buddy. Listen, um. Some shit might be going down and I may have to leave town for a few days. Mind if I drop by and chat in case…you know. Things go sideways. Yea, I got a girl over, but I’ll be there in about an hour. Oh you better have some stories to tell. Yea, I’ll bring a 6 pack. It’ll be cool. Your place. See you there.” He said hanging up.
“Someone from the group?” She asked.
“Old Portland. Hell of a guy. He needs a heads-up if this might get nasty, and we can trust him. He’s a good guy. Old war vet, full of stories. You know I’ve been shooting the shit with him for like 6 months, heard about Vietnam and his wife, and all kinds of shit. Don’t know his real name. Nobody does. Just old Portland. Getting old sucks, Tanner. Don’t ever do it. Live your life and die just before you reach old age, while you still got some spark left. That retirement is the thing that kills your soul. He was a damn war hero, guy crawled through dark tunnels with a knife in his teeth and no gun in the muddy water in those tunnels and killed like 40 Vietcong, pitch black silence, slit their throat, moved on. That takes some guts. Now he just watches MASH reruns and goes to group. It’s really sad. He was the OG hitman when he got back for decades, and then he just... got too old." he sighed as Tanner thought about Mike's graying hair. "No enemies left, killed them all. Settled down alone. Breaks my heart. He should have died in a blaze of glory and bullets like a badass, fuckin John Dillinger style standoff. Little late now.” Carl shook his head.
“It’s sweet that you visit him.” She smiled. You’re a decent guy, Carl. Little weird, but we all are in this neck of the woods.”
“No I’m not. I’m not that great.” He smiled sadly.
Old Portland sat in his living room, taking his insulin and covering with a blanket, as he heard a knock on the door.
“It’s unlocked.” He hollered, wispy white hair tucked under gold rimmed glasses with thick coke bottle lenses, staring at the door. He smiled when Carl walked in and shut the door, locking it.
“You know you should keep that door locked. Someone could sneak up…” he said, looking down as Portland moved the blanket and slowly placed the sawed off shotgun down.
“You were saying? Someone could sneak in here and get shot trying to rob me?” he chuckled. Looking back at the little old TV, military green and almost as thick as it was wide, at a whopping 20 inches or so, faded gray picture playing black and white reruns.
“Shit, you never disappoint, old timer. Got your favorite beer, a cigar. You got any old war stories you haven’t told yet, gramps?” he asked, sitting down and cracking one open for him, and one for himself.
“Oh, you’ve heard them all at least once. I heard you say you were with a lady today. I hope that goes well.
“Yea me too, but honestly I don’t have a good feeling about it. You ever think something you’re doing might be a mistake and you should just bail and take off early?”
“Pussying out before the big fight? Damnit Carl, if you’re gonna get killed, you might as well go for it. Die feeling proud of yourself at least.” Portland gruffed.
“That’s kinda the problem. She’s a nice girl and I got a shot with her, but she’s claimed. Someone’s gonna get hurt. Doesn’t feel right.” Carl said cryptically.
“Well, then don’t do it. Simple as that, kid. You know what’s right and what’s not. Why are you asking me what to do? Do what you think you need to, if you’re not sure, don’t do it.”
“Yea, I know what I gotta do. I just don’t want to.”
“You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?” he asked, casually taking a swig, as Carl looked perplexed.
“What on Earth makes you think that?” he asked
“That’s sort of your style, isn’t it? You got a suppressor on your Scorpion, you never carry suppressed.” He noted. “I can see the outline in your coat.”
“So why didn’t you shoot me when you had the shotgun. I thought the point of the shotgun was for people coming to get your ass.” Carl muttered.
“No, the shotgun is for people breaking in to steal my stuff, and in case Catherine walked in that door instead of you. I wouldn’t mind giving her a barrel of buckshot. I know they’re going after the preacher soon. You don’t have it in you to take her side, and she knows I don’t give a tinker’s damn about her plans. So I know either she’s coming for me with a choice, or she will be sending someone.”
“She didn’t send me. I just came here on my own to say goodbye because I’m not sticking around for this fight, and I like you old timer. So either I’m leaving you and someone else is gonna show up at that door, or…we can do this on your terms. She’s a real nasty bitch to people she doesn’t like. Probably threaten you, torture you. That’s just not right to go down that way. You’ve been through too much to go down like that. So enjoy your cigar and your beer, take your time. How do you wanna go? I can leave you the needle, I can do it myself, I can just say goodbye, and let you stand your ground with the shotgun…or I can put one in your head. Your call.” Carl said.
“Getting tortured or bleeding out on the floor shooting back at some prick following her orders doesn’t sit well with me, and I doubt she has the balls to show up herself, so the shotgun won’t get to do its job. You should do it. However, you think is best.” He smiled, finishing his beer and kicking back.
“Quick and cold. Do you have a preference for an open casket or a closed one? Any family that would want to see you one last time?” Carl asked.
“No, you know better than most that nobody comes here anymore. They never do when you get old. The nurse that does my medication and cleans once a week, and you, are about it as far as visitation. Back of the head is fine.” He nodded. Carl stood up slowly, extending a hand to shake and giving him a firm one and a respectful nod.
“Gonna miss you, Portland. Do I get to know your name first?” he asked.
“Oh that’s no fun. Spoils the mystery and makes me just another old fart you sent to the gates when they had nothing left. I’m selfish, I wanna be remembered and mysterious. Don’t forget that knife you always stared at from Nam. That’s yours when you go. Otherwise, just go for it.” he smirked, looking ready.
“Thanks, old man. Maybe some day this thing will end up finding its way into Catherine’s back.”
“No, don’t even try it. You’ll get killed getting that close. Just do what you gotta do and live your life. Let the war do its thing and claim who it wants. You do good work. Keep doing it.” Portland said, as a sudden jolt slumped him over the chair, and Carl held up the smoking suppressor and grabbed the old K-bar knife from the table.
“See you there one day.” He said sadly. Putting 2 more into his chest just to be sure he didn’t suffer. He placed the blanket over him and holstered the pistol, he poured a shot from an old bottle and took a sip, placing the remaining glass in Portland's’s hand, spilling it on the blanket and placing the smoldering cigar down. He stood outside waiting for the flicker of flames to be sure, heading out as the fire began to grow visible in the kitchen window. He calmly drove down the road, windows down and silent, looking both proud and ashamed. He held the phone up to his ear and hung his head for a moment.
“Yea, I went to see Portland. I tried to convince him to pick the right side on this, but I don’t think he was ever going to do that. He was a stubborn old man to the end. No it was no trouble really. Just an old man, my business as usual. Sending someone else would have been a mistake, he had a shotgun ready for the door, Cathy. Anyone else would have gotten a dick full of buckshot on the way in. I gotta prove I can hang. I set the place on fire, one shot to the lower back so he can’t crawl out. He got the message, the last thing he experienced was a fuck you from Catherine and a crippling round before the place went up. He suffered, like you wanted. No, I’m thrilled to get my hands dirty for once. Lethal injection gets boring. I had a good kill. The girl is not a problem, just let me make sure the preacher isn’t there. He’s above my pay grade, I’m not fucking with the preacher. You want him, that’s your problem. I can handle an old man and a girl with a knife. That man is a boss fight I’m not geared up for. Don’t underestimate him. He’s got people and connections I can’t seem to get information on. I don’t know, fucking, 6 guys, 30? How do I know? He won’t give names, just cryptic little bible verses and snippits of stories. He’s not alone, though. You may wanna hold back a while, and if I think he’s on me, I’m gonna have to disappear. You know my safehouse location, call before knocking. Anyway, Tanner shouldn’t be an issue. We’re doing a body dump tonight, I’ll handle it then. I made my choice; I just proved that if you got the fire department radio tapped. See you at the meeting." he said, hanging up. "Or see you in hell, either way."