Claim It! Pt. 03

The rolling man let out a heavy grunt and lay still, while the other, fired again into the light, which caused it to go out in a burst of explosive sparks. Don shot, again as the fluorescent light went out.

Don waited breathlessly, afraid to breath, waiting to hear another body fall. But, there was only silence. Don's retinas were temporarily blinded by; first, the fluorescent light and secondly, by his own pistol flash. So he listened. Seconds ticked by, then a minute. Don counted the passing time under his breath, the focus on the count steadying his mind and nerves. His eyes slowly cleared and the shooting pulsating images of light flares eventually subsided. Now, there was nothing but darkness with vague shapes ebbing and shifting in the inky blackness.

'At least two minutes have passed', thought Don, 'so where's the other one? Why hasn't he made a move?'

Getting impatient and with his fear mounting, Don moved to the side slowly, carefully, silently, and warily stepped out of the office. His back sliding along one wall of the hall, he felt his way toward the main room. His senses painfully alert, Don listened for any sound which might give the killer away.

Then as unexpectedly as these things happen, a disquieting thought filled Don's mind, 'Shit!', I'm not sure the other one is dead. I might be facing two men, rather than one! Fuck!'

Yet, nothing stirred, as far as Don could tell.

Don had stopped moving as soon he felt the hall wall end at the corner and drop off into the larger main room.

His nerves crackled with tension while his mind whirled thoughts around at astonishing speeds, and although Don had once more stopped breathing, to help him focus his hearing, all he heard and felt was the high pitched thrumming of his body and the rapid thumping of his heart.

He waited a few more minutes until his nerves fairly screamed with fright and impatience.

'Fuck it!' Thought Don. 'If they're alive I'd be dead already. Walk to the light switch and turn on the damn light!'

And that's just what he did.

The sight that greeted Don in the light made him gasp loudly in surprise and horror.

The first man he'd shot lay amidst a large pool of blood, which had already soaked into the cheap indoor/outdoor carpeting and begun to congeal. Some blood streaked a nearby wall in a narrow splatter, while several smaller spots of red sprinkled the same area, including the floor.

A narrow furrow creased the man's neck, and a small but ugly bulging hole was evident at the base of the neck, in the hollow above the collar bone. Blood covered the exposed skin on his face and neck, changing the black of the shirt to a deep purple that seemed to glisten evilly in the cold glow of the fluorescence lighting.

The other man sat splayed against the wall that separated the break room from the main room. He too, was dead. There wasn't as much blood, in fact the little blood sprayed on the wall was no more than a few speckles, but the mass of pink shinny bits of brain matter stuck to the wall was slightly dripping with red.

Don would have been alright except his eyes moved to look at the man's head. Most of the top was gone, leaving a red angry cavern, oozing blood and other unidentified bits of bio-matter, which had somehow spilled over the ragged edge of skull bone, running down into the man's longish hair, what was left of it.

Don's stomach erupted, vomit spewed out, splashing heavily onto the dead man's body. Don heaved again and what was left in his stomach added it self to what lay of the man's bits and pieces.

As his knees sagged, Don nearly fell into the bloody vile smelling mess. Barely catching himself, Don thankfully staggered into the break room; any place was better than where the two bodies lay.

A new fear filled Don now. He'd just shot two men! Certainly, it was in self defense, but the weapon he'd used was illegal. No doubt the cops would arrest him and ask a bunch of questions later, more focused on the pistol than what prompted him to kill the two men. Don was no fool, he knew he couldn't leave the trailer as it was. Don was not going to jail. Not for defending himself, even if it had been with an illegal weapon.

With a weary sigh, Don knew what he had to do.

"Pete? I have a problem on the job site..."

~N~

Pete eyed Don for the umpteenth time as he disconnected the call. The younger man was tough, Pete had to give him that. He'd put paid to two of Europe's most wanted killers; Serbian assassins that had somehow escaped capture during the last round up of dissidents. Now, here they were. Dead by their own stupidity. Or bad luck.

Pete still wasn't sure about Don's ability to remain cool under fire, although the evidence before him was a pretty strong indication his friend could kill if he had to.

"Okay, Don, someone is on the way to clean up this mess." Sighing in both relief for his friend and exasperation at his friend, Pete added, "I'm not going to say I told you so, but I wish you'd reconsider having Rhodes as at least back up. In case..." Pete swung his arm around the room. "Something like this were to happen again. Next time you might not get so lucky."

"Pete, it wasn't luck. I was scared, sure. But also, there was something else. It was exciting. I was alive in a way I can't explain. My mind was firing on every cylinder, and my senses were sharper than ever before. I'm not proud that I shot and killed two men, but it wasn't luck that got them dead."

Pete nodded. He knew exactly what Don was talking about. He'd been there more times than he cared to remember. Although it had been a number of years, the flush of excitement still tingled his nerves each time he thought of the past.

"Sure, Don. I hear you. But, it was luck they didn't have back up ready to swarm you. That you killed these bad guys might not be based on luck, but you also can't depend on things always going your way, even with the best planning. These dead guys can testify to that." explained Pete grimly.

"You're right, Pete. I see that. But, man, that woman wants to take over my life, only instead of frilly curtains and pink wall colors, she wants video coverage of all sides and passive defenses. I mean...what the fuck? You know?"

Pete chuckled, mirthlessly, yet some genuine amusement slipped past the grim sound.

"And, that's bad, how?"

"Oh, fuck you, you old bastard!" cried Don, a slight smile belying the expletives.

"So what are you going to do? Go around like the pope, in a bullet proof glass box? Because, I'm pretty sure whomever is behind this attempt is going to try again, only next time, well..."

"I know! I know! Fuck! I don't know. I never thought it would come to this. I mean...come on, shit like this happens to the other guy, who lives on the other side of the world, in bumfuck Egypt. Not to me, here, in the good old US of A!"

"Don- Look man, you've got to swallow that pride of yours, shelve the anger, and see if Rhodes is still around. You might have to sweet talk her, meaning that she might hold out for armored vests, but she just might agree to help you out."

Don was silent a moment. Pete hoped Don was considering his words.

"Is she really my only option?"

"At this point, yeah, she is."

"Is she still around? Rhodes, I mean?" asked Don contemplatively.

"I don't know, amigo, but I can ask." answered Santos carefully, making sure nothing triumphant tinged his voice. "if you want me to, that is."

Nodding, Don said, "Yeah. Do that. If you don't mind, that is."

~N~

A large box van and two trucks arrived and several nondescript people issued forth and began the dreadful job of clean up. They were nondescript because they were covered from head to toe in white overalls, white booties and white gloves, even their faces were masked by a white facial cover and they all wore dark goggles.

Two of them approached Don and directed him to stand atop a large black plastic sheet that had been laid on the break room floor. They then motioned for him to remove all his clothing, including his boots, and leave them on the plastic. Don objected, stridently, but then Pete, disconnecting from another phone call, explained the purpose.

"You've got burned cordite on your clothing, you need to change out of them. There can't be evidence of anything out of the ordinary having happened here. We don't want the cops involved. Your clothing won't be returned, but once your personal items have been sanitized, you'll get them back. Next, you'll get a wash, sort of, that'll remove any signs of cordite and blood on your skin and hair."

Don grudgingly complied.

After that, the two same people- or two others that looked like the other two people- rubbed some kind of gel-like liquid into his hair and over his body, especially across his arms, hands, and over his face. Then, without warning, one of the two stuck a needle into his arm, at the crook of his elbow, while the other held his arm in a vise like grip. His blood was drawn out, slowly filling the large syringe. He was then handed a package of clothing. The clothing was the same attire as worn by the others in white, and even included the dark goggles.

"What the fuck? Why-" began Don.

"Just put it on. It's all for your benefit." said Pete.

"But-"

"Goddammit, Don! Quit acting the fucking brat, and for once just do what you're told." hissed Pete in anger.

Don's eyes widen in surprise. Pete had never been so angry with him. Rather than respond, Don grabbed the proffered clothing and dressed quickly.

"Put on the goggles!" snapped Pete.

Don angrily jerked the goggles into place on his face. And he saw more clearly then he could remember.

"Wow! These are- Man! What are these goggles?"

"Visual aids. Now, just sit tight until they finish with the place, then follow them out and get aboard the van. In the back." explained Pete in a tightly controlled voice.

"Sure, Pete. What about my truck and-" started Don before being cut off by Pete.

"Everything is taking care of. Just do what I've told you. And don't go getting smart and try to do something else. Your life is not the only one in the balance. You fuck this up and they'll be shit to pay. And the check you'll have to write, you won't be able to cash. So..."

"I get it, Pete. I won't go all Geronimo. What happens later?"

"We'll have to see. For now, your dead."

"WHAT? What do you mean, I'm dead?"

"Look, Don, this is the only other way to protect you. Let who ever is behind this, think they killed you.. That way they'll maybe, just maybe, let their guard down. And when that happens, well, we'll be ready."

"Seriously? You think they'll think I'm dead? Without a body? And, what about the two guys I killed? Won't their employers start wondering about them when they don't check in?"

"Yes, they will think your dead. As far as those two goons- Lets just say the word will go out that they pissed off the wrong people. Other Serbians." Pete said in grim satisfaction.

"What about the business? My jobs? What about Donna? Come on, Pete? Really? What happened to having Rhodes as security?" complained Don.

"Plans have changed. Look, Don, if the bad guys really do kill you, what then? I'll tell you. The world goes on. Only it'll be without you. Get it, amigo? This way, one day soon, you'll get to return. Miraculously. From the dead. Like Jesus."

"Whatever, man. I still don't like it. Once again, I'm left out of the planning. I'm just like a piece of shit floating in the toilet waiting to get flushed."

Pete grunted, whether in agreement or just acknowledgment, Don couldn't tell. The two men didn't speak the rest of the time the clean up was in progress. About four o'clock in the morning, the two dead guys were placed into body bags and zipped up. Then one of the white suited workers, about the same size as Don lay down in a body bag and it too was zipped up.

The clean up crew had worked silently, not one person in white had spoken, and that had filled Don with an eerie feeling. They were like ants, working furiously, directed by some hidden queen ant.

The trailer was clean, the old carpet had been taken up, the plywood floors had been scrubbed and something applied to the bare wood where the blood has stained it, and similar looking carpeting had been installed. It was not new carpet, it looked used and slightly worn. The walls had been scrubbed down as well. Someone had started spraying a mist over some of the things in the trailer, especially the recently cleaned walls. As he watched, Don slowly realized that it was dust in a can. It made him chuckle, although silently.

Even the shot up light had been replaced with a used light fixture. And, it too got a heavy spray of dust.

When they were ready to leave, Don saw that there literally was no evidence that anything deadly had occurred in the trailer. It looked normal.

Two men carried each body bag, and Don was directed, silently, to help carry the body bag with the live body.

The vehicle the two would be killers had arrived in had already been carried away, inside a larger box van.

Don was amazed at what the white suited people had accomplished in such a short time. If only he could get his work crews to work half as fast and as good...

Right before Don exited the trailer, carrying his share of the burden, he saw one single white dressed individual, carefully placing several drops of blood from the syringe he held.