The Untouchable Ch. 02

I write almost pulp. Or poor comic book. In other words, cheap crap. You don't like that, don't read it. You want character development, good plots, realistic scenarios, go elsewhere. This may be Literotica but I don't do literature.

This one's a little over the top. It isn't realistic in what happens, how people act and respond. It is excessively cartoonish. You have been warned continue at your own risk.

One of my usual. Flash story. No real sex and probably some violence. Copyright and all rights reserved and all that crap to me in the year 2020 AD (screw that CE stuff). The names are all made up and any resemblance to any other real or fictional character is purely delusional on the part of the reader.

If you want to complain about the hackneyed unbelievable plot, lack of character development, or inflated breast sizes, be my guest. Just know I won't care. I sometimes enjoy reading the commentators that criticize my writing but if your going to, remember, I already called it drivel. If you can't top that don't bother.

Still looking for an editor. I'm guessing my writing is so poor no one wants to take it on. A Sisyphean Task if there ever was one. I can't catch all the typo's and incorrect phrasings. Knowing that self-delusion is the strongest delusion out there I would guess self-editing is the weakest editing.

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I had just finished running a quick errand for the boss at a small college a ways south of D.C and was only on the road an hour or so heading back when the call came in turning me around. They wanted me to head south to Atlanta, about a six-hour drive. I was to check in at the hotel then call. They sent the itinerary and hotel name to my phone.

I arrived in Atlanta around 1:00 AM and checked into the hotel. I was not all that surprised when I called in to find Mac on the other end, regardless of the time. I know he had a suite at the office and kept his own hours. Our organization was different from most in that all of us field agents worked directly for the top man, there were not any buffers between us. And we usually did not work together all that much either. If I needed backup for a particular job, or a snatch team, there was a group I could call in, but they stayed mostly to themselves, and the rest of us were more the lone wolf types.

We had had an agent gunned down in Atlanta and my assignment was to figure out why and neutralize whoever did it. Mac always seemed to think retribution was good for morale. Personally, I could care less what happens to the asshole that was lucky enough to get me. I had lived close enough to the edge, for a long enough time, not to expect that sooner or later my number would get punched, and when it did it was not something I would take personally. But I liked my job and if the Boss wanted to set a cat lose among the pigeons who was I to argue. It's what I did so to me it did not matter the who's, what's, where's, or why's anymore. If he had pointed me at my mother and said go I suppose I would have, except she had been dead since before I was born so it was a moot point. And no one knew who my father was, mom being a working girl and all that, so that was a dead end as well.

The girl, code named Ruby, was just a kid. Twenty-five, African American, quite the looker based on the photos he sent, she had been shot three times and was in intensive care. One of them was a head shot and they had her in a drug induced coma to try to let the body heal. We really did not have much to go on, Mac said she was between assignments, but Mac was never 100% truthful so you never knew for sure. He had decided to try a ploy we had used often enough to become a standard plot line if this was just another tired internet story. I was supposed to go to the hospital and make myself just conspicuous enough to pick up a tail if anyone was watching her and just incompetent enough not to notice. Then when the time came I could either turn tail on the tail and follow them back or do a snatch and grab and extract the information I needed from them. It did not work out exactly the way we wanted but it did give us a lead.

We were big on code names in our group, but who knows where or why they came from. Ruby did not have red hair and the boss had been calling me Eric since he recruited me, but I usually went by John Smith out in the field. They had let me pick that one and based on it they thought I did not have an imagination, but I had a reason for choosing it. It was about as generic as you could get except for John Doe, but John Doe's usually end up in the morgue, I know I had put enough of them there myself, and I did not plan on that happening to me. I wanted it to be generic, I wanted it to be fake, and I wanted people to know I did not care enough about them to try to fool them.

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I showed up at the hospital the next morning around 10:00. They had set me up with some sort paperwork showing I had the power of attorney as if I was representing the next of kin for the girl. It was all a little vague as to who, exactly, the next of kin was, and why I was representing them, but it had a Federal court judge's signature on it, it was duly filed, and all our legal dots were dotted and crosses were crossed. I had to go over the paperwork with a few different people to get their take on it, hospital administrators trying to justify their existence, and fill out a bunch of insurance forms so that they could get paid, before they would let me up to see her. There was not much to see, she was hooked up to enough machines that there was sort of a maze of wires and plumbing, with a bandaged body lying still underneath it on the bed.

I did not feel anything looking down at her. Not that I ever felt much of anything anyway, empathy being a concept I understood intellectually but had never experienced, as were most emotions, but I had never met her either. For the most part, as I said, we operated alone. But I sat there for a while, long enough to attract the attention of whoever it was whose attention I needed to attract. I gave it two hours, long enough for my presence to be noted, then left. My intention was to drift down to the cafeteria for lunch and see what developed. I did not get that far.

I had just stepped from the room when two men came up to me. They were dressed in regular clothes, with sports coats and the rest, and the look just screamed cop to me. Now I do not dislike cops, nor do I particularly like them, in fact, like with most things, I have no feelings at all. I do tend to normally give them the benefit of the doubt but something about these two just set my senses off. In my line of work, I tend to go with my instinct, it has saved my ass more than once, and my instinct was telling me something was not right with these two. There was something a little hard around the eyes, like they had more involved here that they wanted to share.

"Mr. Smith, Mr. John Smith" the older one asked? I nodded.

"My names Detective Drucker, this is my partner Detective Samuelson, we are from the Atlanta PD, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about our former Jane Doe in there?" they both pulled out badges which they flashed at me.

"Sure, I would be happy to help" I replied, "and maybe you can tell me just what happened to her and why she was shot. I was just going to the cafeteria for coffee maybe we can talk there?" I was going for jovial and helpful although I did not expect it to last that long.

"Actually, we have a room just down the hall here. It will give us a little privacy while we talk." He proceeded me down the hallway and into a small room that looked like a break room. There were a couple of tables with industrial type chairs, a small fridge, and a microwave on a counter type thing with a little sink area. We all took seats around a round table. What I was really wanting was a coffee.

"Mr. Smith, we are trying to understand what happened to Rachel Jackson. It was only this morning we were even able to get a name on her when you arrived. We had he down as a Jane Doe. We had run her prints but found nothing. So, any information you can give us on her would be helpful." Drucker seemed to be taking the lead his partner so far had been the silent type.

"There is not much I can tell you, but I will help all I can. We would like to understand what happened to her as well."

He looked at me. "Who, exactly, is we, Mr. Smith?"

"I represent her family in this matter. For now, they have chosen to remain nameless, but they asked me to come here and represent them. If you check you will see all the paperwork is in order."

"Why you? And why would they want to remain nameless? Are you a lawyer?"

"No, just a friend of the family. As to why they want to remain nameless I am also not at liberty to speak to. Is there anything you can tell me about why she was shot?"

"How did you know she was in the hospital? She is listed as a Jane Doe and her prints weren't on file anywhere and yet you show up knowing who she is?"

"As I said I was sent to represent the family. I have no knowledge as to how they knew she was here. Can you tell me anything about when and where she was shot?"

"We ran a background check on the name and social security number you gave us, and it turned up blank. No work history, no record of schooling, no arrest record, nothing. It's like she's a ghost, or more likely it's a fake ID. What can you tell us about her background?"

"Nothing. I never met her and have been engaged to ensure she receives adequate medical care and inquire into the shooting, nothing more. Until my employer choses to release additional information there is nothing I can tell you."

"How do I know you even have an employer, Mr. Smith? How do I know you weren't involved in the shooting and that's how you know who she is and where she was? In fact, I am beginning to think you were a lot more involved in this than you are telling us."

Now I had a perfect alibi for the night in question. I had been a few hundred miles north dealing with a different problem and at the exact time of the shooting was sitting with the local sheriff in the restaurant having a pleasant chat. But this did not seem to be the time or place to bring that up. Instead I tried baiting him a little just to see where it led.

"Honestly, I do not think you can think. I think you have nothing and your clutching at straws, or even worse, you have something and your looking to misdirect the investigation elsewhere."

That made him mad. I could see it in his eyes, and he came back spitting at me "look asshole I got a girl in the room down the hall with three bullets in her. No one knows who she is, no one knows where she's from, there are no prints on file, and yet somehow you identify her and waltz in here where she is. You refuse to tell us how or why you know what you know so that tells me your hiding something. Now I want to know what it is, and I want to know now, or you can go to the station and we can try this again in an interrogation room. I have enough now to bring you in for formal questioning."

"I think we are done here" I said, standing up. Samuelson moved to block the door and I let him. I wanted to see how far they would push it. Seems they were going to push it all the way.

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I went through fingerprinting and mugshots and surrendered my wallet, phone, shoes, and belt before being brought down to the holding cell they had for me in the basement. I was expecting them to rough me up a little but for the most part they were clean about how they handled me. We went down a dead-end corridor that had two cells on each side at the end. There was a uniformed cop at a desk just around the bend where he could not see anything, and he got up and followed us down.

The two detectives said hello to him and small talked for a minute, mostly for my benefit.

"Did they ever fix the camera's down here" Drucker asked him?

"No, still out. We just rely on them to behave themselves."

They brought me to the end cell. This one had two guests in it already and the other three were empty. They were both in prison orange, one black, one white, and looked a little out of place for a temporary holding cell. I could see they had prison tats and the muscles that went with too much time behind bars and nothing else to do.

"Why not one of the empty ones" I asked.

"Then we would have more to clean" the uniform cop replied, "so we just stack you up in one cell until we get to four then start on the next one."

I looked at Drucker. "You send the name and prints through" I asked him?

"Why, are you wanted somewhere else?"

"Let's just say you have about twenty-five minutes before all hell breaks loose on your head. Tell your boys to work quick if you want them to have time to get it done. They supposed to kill me or just soften me up a little?"

He looked at me strange. I let some of the monster inside come out as I looked back at him. His partner, and the uniform, were back a bit and they did not see it, but I saw him flinch. He did not like what he saw, looking at me. "Just go in the cell" he said, "no one is going to hurt you. We will be coming back in a little while to take you for an interview. We just need to scare up a room."

I walked in the cell and waited patiently. Nothing was going to happen until they were all out of hearing range. Plausible deniability and all that. I debated what to do about my fellow cellmates. Killing them seemed a bit extreme but it would make a statement. But deaths in custody are always hard to explain. Maybe if I just crippled them both they would get early release or something. So, in a way I would be doing them a favor. I'm usually a nice guy like that and do like to help my fellow man, as long as it does not interfere with the job.

One thing very few people know about me, except the boss, is that I am strong. Uniquely, freakishly strong. In another day and age, I would have been a circus sideshow freak. The Strong Man. Breaks 2 x 4's with his bare hands. Bends steel bars. Lifts horses over his head, that type of thing. I had managed to keep it hidden growing up but somehow Mac, being Mac, had found out. It did not show on the surface all that much. I could not see much point in building muscle mass when I would have had to lift refrigerators to work up a sweat. But that freakish strength, coupled with some rather intensive unarmed combat training Mac sent me through, made fights like this a little tricky. Killing them was easy, crippling them for life also. But inflicting just enough damage so they would walk again, eventually, required restraint. And there was not much point in questioning them. They were just hired muscle, here to soften me up, and I already knew who hired them. I wondered, idly, what I had cost. A carton of cigarettes or two, maybe a few days early release. Life was often cheap inside.

I just went straight at them. I grabbed the black one by the biceps. Damn they were big, my hand only went part way around, but I squeezed hard enough to rupture some of the tendons by compression. I pulled him into me as I head butted his nose with my forehead, hearing it break with a resounding crunch, spraying blood all over him and myself. Then an instep kick to his left knee, breaking it back in on itself, as he was dropping to the floor. One, two, three, in less time than it takes to tell it he was down for good. But he was moaning, and I did not want to hear it so a quick kick to the side of his head shut him up for a while. I was not too worried about a concussion, neither of them looked all that smart to begin with, so I did not think a little brain damage would be a hindrance long term for them.

Thug one was out so I turned on thug two. Things had moved a little too quick for him and he was backing up at first, but then he decided to charge me. It looked like he was going for a bear hug, maybe thinking to break my back or something, so I let him put me in one. He had my arms pinned to the side, but it was easy enough to grab his pants, lift him up, propel him to the wall, and body slam him four or five times. His arms had gone limp after the second hit, but I added a few more for good measure before he was out cold. I think the back of his head might have cracked a little but, as they say, you cannot make an omelet without breaking the eggs. He lay there by the wall when I dropped him, but I dragged him over next to his pal.

It had only taken half a minute or so and I figured I had a good twenty minutes or more before Drucker came back, so I stretched out on the bunk and got some rest. I had only had five hours the night before, what with the driving and check in, and I like my eight when I can get it. So, sue me if I like my sleep, I am only human after all. Well, sort of, for the most part, in appearance if nothing else. Anyway, I like my full sleep.

I heard them coming before they got to the cell. I was not sleeping, just dozing, and was sitting up before they rounded the corner. The three of them came to a complete stop just outside the door.

"What the fuck happened" said Samuelson?

I looked at him. "They were fighting which one was going to soften me up for you and knocked each other out instead. I figured it best just to sit and watch."

"And how did you get the blood all over your shirt?"

"I went to check on them after they knocked each other out. The black guy has a broken nose, broken left knee, and some ruptured tendons in his arms. I would check him for a concussion as well. The other one seems to be having trouble with his spine, and a concussion also. Hopefully, it is not broken, and he will be able to walk again. They were really going at it for a bit, made it a bit hard to sleep." I yawned for effect.

They all just stood there looking. Shock tends to do that to some people. "I would probably call an ambulance if I were you. I do not think you want to just leave them lying there. And you grabbed me before lunch. Maybe you could send someone over to the subway I saw on the way here. Get me a meatball grinder, with provolone cheese, and black olives. So, did you get any action on my prints?"

That got them moving. Uniform took off to call an ambulance wile Drucker and Samuelson escorted me back upstairs. They ushered me into a larger interview room that looked like it had seen better days and posted a different uniform with me as a guard.

"I don't know just who you are, Mr. Smith, but it seems the United States attorney's office is sending someone over special just to talk to you. She should be here in another half hour or so you can just sit tight until then."

"In the meantime, you think you could rustle up that subway sandwich for me?"

He slammed the door on the way out.

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It took almost forty-five minutes before the person from the US attorney's office showed up and she did not look happy. She was one of those younger prissy types, sharp enough looking in her professional way, and probably considered herself a real ballbuster, but she did not know what was going on and did not like it one bit. They all tried crowding in with her, but she kicked them out fast enough and looking at her aide, an even younger toadying type, told him to make sure all the surveillance was off.

"Mr. Smith, you want to tell me what the hell is going on here? I had to essentially walk out on a Federal judge, to ask for a recess for a few hours to come over here and deal with this."