Die with your boots on
Introduction
They called us soldiers, all competing for the better contract. I was the dragon of all these men; raged with fire running threw my veins. Inflicting more pain than one could fathum from the demons spear like teeth. Walking threw life with hatred against anyone that looked straight into my soul. I didn't keep anyone close, friends or enemies. I considered my glock my only friend, but enemies were many.
My life has been layered with guilt. Everyday I scream I was not there to save them. I continue to play it in my mind, praying to the god I no loner believed in that this was all a horrible dream. Somehow I could rewind and been there to change the out come. Like a clown I put on a show if it had a title it would be 'Vicious sacrifices.'
Some are addicted to it. An addiction so strong leaving you weak in the knees, spinning your whole body around savoring the sound of the firing bullet, the blood spilt. Having a orgasm without being touched or caressed . Some do it for the money. Every contract is worth thousands, each person blood worth more than another. The glory too spectacular to pass, having others speak of your name Others just do it. It is an eye for an eye I prey on those that can lead me closer to the truth. Those who are proud of their killings can not keep quiet about it, murdering an agent's family that is hunting for your kind is nothing to be ashamed about.
I was the game piece at the beginning of the line tumbling them all down one by one. Until I got to the last piece each would fall leading me to the man that stole my family. That day will come; I will bring him down just like all the rest on my twisted path. He will be my last domino to fall.
1
By the warmth of the sun light beating down on my skin I am normal; shooting in the range, researching on the computer, putting all the missing puzzle pieces back together; socializing with all the students learning to become Vess's new trusted soldier. When the sun retires as does all the population and I rise to complete another hellish night; another blood red vision coming true.
Seeking comfort in affirmative action taking the bastards life, he stole mine years ago. Everyday my lost wife face grows dim, five years later I can not believe it's hard to paint her perfect porcelin face in my head. Without looking at a picture her shy cheek bones, caring eyes are never perfect the way I see them. It cannot be because I think of her miserable decaying body under ground sealed to wake up and offer no escape. She lays motionless next to my two children with nothing but dirt and grass above them, asking mother 'where is daddy?' Explaining to children that daddy's mission is not done can be impossible; reading their sorrow and pain in the eyes of the innocent. 'Daddy will be home soon' was the last they heard and continue to hear over the continuim of five years. 'Soon baby soon' is the lullaby to sooth my babies to sleep. I will be with them soon enough, my reality drags me threw the dirt in anguish how long I have survived without them, but the religious preachers tell me even after five years later my loves are still meeting with Jesus. Not that this gives me comfort at night to sleep, but an excuse for my absense by taking so long to hold them in my arms again.
Enjoying the sweet bitterness of a Starbucks white chocolate mocha, pressing the plastic lid against my dry chapped lips with my right hand; resting my other wrist on the wheel gently stirring the truck west returning to what I have called home for the last five years. I could feel blood drying on my face from the single gunshot to the victims head; execution style. His name had been Michael; sharing the same DNA as the famous serial hitman Marshall I had put behind bars just months before my family had been brutally murdered. Hunting each lead, each motive to justice I crossed off Michael from my list of valuable information. He would be found in the morning by his mother returning from vacation in Hawaii; what a surprise she would discover just ten feet from entering the front door, seeing her only freedom bound son sprawled out on the floor, dead. I guess at least this discovery was after vacationing and not before, she was given time to enjoy herself and not mourning in another state.
Interrupted from silence and my bloody chocolate mocha my cell phone rang; glancing at the flashing light from the screen and keys I placed my coffee in the holder and picked up the call, "Hello?"
"I need status on Michael." The expected call was Vess.
"Deceased."
"How do you feel?"
"Dirty."
"I understand, this feeling will soon pass."
"As it always does."
"Business is not always pleasing Domino."
"Yes. I know."
"Return and clean up." Click. And the phone call was finished. The same as it always, short. Simple. Careless.
I brought the black ford F-150 to a stop reviewing my notes I had previously written down concerning the contract on Michael. Lurking in the shadows concentrating on his every move, every habit for weeks. He had dined in at a Mexican restaurant twice a week: alone. No leading ladies, no party life. Behavior as any bachelor; nothing similar to his brother that now sits on death row in California. He was not a geek revolving around video games and anime nor was his unpredictable bad looks going to land him a Hollywood model either. He wore his pin striped suit to discover card everyday seeking customers to receive more commission on. Just a good businessman. Michael had not met up with any member of the Mexican mafia or a drug dealer, he was receiving no other income like other criminals. A life of no career just scraping to help mommy pay for rent could not be pleasing, neither was killing a man with no motive. This contract had just been good business. Relieving a petty man of life.
Arriving at the gates of the firm security entrence the guards are familiar with my pickup truck. I stop for them to see my face on the night vision camera and wait for the gate to open.
Sipping at the last of my calmly warm coffee once more remembering my existence of terror. Still five years later I have gained no information that gives me closer or satisfaction. Every dime I have collected from each contract has sat in my bank account, receiving more bills than an A list actor could dream of in a single blockbuster hit movie. I spend nothing. An internet hacker could strike jackpot and it would neither upset or bring me to rage. I would trade it all for my life years ago, a life that brings a single smile to my face remember my pumpkins.
A click of the gate opening jerks me out of my own thoughts and regrets. I pull the truck forward into a garage that connects to the whole school. and I am welcomed by the men in black. Black baseball cap, shirt, jeans, shoes and gloves. "Welcome back Domino." A tall skinny pale man opens my door. I remember his mundayne face from other blood spilt nights. I turn off the engine and grab the remains of coffee. "Take care of her." I say as the three other men bring vacuums and other cleaning chemicals to erase all the evidence I have left behind.
"As always." I hear behind me. Exiting the garage and into the broiler room. The tempature is most often uncomfortable to my liking. I close the door and being to take off my shoes. Every tug of my shoe laces seems more difficult. The tile in warm against my bare feet. The warmth of the floor is coming from the fire oven twenty feet in front of me. I strip of all my belongings and toss them into the oven. I wish the night would disappear as fast as the evidence burns. To the right of the colossal oven is a closet were I retrieve my robe for the night. And enter the school threw the 'Hitmen only' area.
Arriving in the lounge center a hitman walking threw the steel black door the students are never oblivious to the world behond what they can see. They are aware of the contracts we are required to settle. Some of these potentials are asked to accompany a higher class hitman, but mostly for the reasons of retirement. Just two months prior the treason hitman known as Spade had a party in his honor. The night of singing and laughing, recognizing his bravery from a warrior game on the video game console the Wii. It is not an unlucky fate for a retiring hitman to end the dance, as some say it is dieing with grace. These men receive contracts on keeping Vess's community safe. The students are welcome to join in the party, bringing gifts to the new potential to help with his new lifelong terror career. When the sun fades behind the mountains and the moons calls for the hitman's soul to join the forever glowing stars above these naïve students must return to there dorms and wait for the single gun shot that reverberates threw out the black night. As Vess's famous words sink into my soul; "Now starts a new era."
"The duck is out of the oven!" The sound of the first potential Mick's voice reflected off the walls and over the sound of a Bruce Willis action flick. This code indicated to the Head Master I was home. Another head count of the celebrity like hitmen.
Heavy foot steps from boots hitting the tile came from the hall way. Without second questioning myself I knew the footsteps belonged to Vess. His six foot muscular body appeared from the hallway. His sure-fire ward robe would never be astray from a black collared shirt and black slacks accompanied with pale black hardcore boots. With lethal black hair probably shaven with the clipper number four he used got to be glued to spike his ageless mane. With no laugh lines or smoker wrinkles his face was surprisenly not dull. His immaculate skin purified with face wash; pores closed tight with astringent. He approached as a confident gentleman, with a mixture of strutness and gliding in his stride, with his arms never swaying too much, but not stern as a military soldier. It was neither a walk in the park or a march to impress the students of his huge status of head master and of course receiving the award for most wanted contract; not just for glory but for a stack of bills only consisting of hundreds. Vess took the gold of other hitmen wanting his head outside of these walls. But the frightening fact of survival was just an amiable game. To him every experience and every sensation was worth while. To me I could not wrap my mind around how the painful experience of being shot with blood rushing for freedom could get the man off, but I was not being paid to question the mans crazy masturbation with no contact presumptions.
"Welcome back soldier." Vess said reaching for my bloody freshly painted face, smearing the red goodness onto his finger tips. Welcoming the vital fluid onto his tongue savoring the taste of the once forever flowing gore from the victims body. "A positive." He said with a bit of cockiness. Not caring to question him I stood un amused. Bringing my eyes to his, a smirk escaped from his gently shaped lips. "By the pattern of impact of gore on your face the blood came from below your head, Michael had about three inches on you," he paused for a moment ever so gently bringing his neatly groomed fingers to my chin turning my head to the left and carefully examining my neck. "Ah Domino." Sounding disappointed in the work performed tonight. "Flinching at the moment of impact, closing your eyes and not seeing the crime scene explode. Do you do it because you think God only sees what you pay attention to? Maybe if consciously you do not witness it then you did not really kill Michael?"
"I killed an innocent man tonight."
"No man is more innocent than the first, blood split is not blood wasted. I gave you a lead, give those old FBI agent habits a rest. Bring destruction to your surface and first nature."