All You Need Is Kill

#1

2/15/15, New York City, 11:00 AM. (An Alternate Universe)

The Heavy - Short Change Hero

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#2

Karl was stuck in the Lincoln Tunnel. Nothing could compare with this feeling of utter and helpless claustrophobia. Just a mile or so long and underground, but with the traffic, it may as well have been the Hadron Collider, and he Karl, an invisible higgs-boson particle...

Time to hunt.

Dan spat up a sip of his s**t coffee and filled the rest of the Styrofoam cup with whiskey. Better. He sat there, idling his Dodge Intrepid, and staring at the Macy's sign on 7th Avenue. He was waiting for that *******, Phil the Thrill, who worked for Mr. Celophane, who in turn, no doubt needed Dan to kill someone new.

Time to hunt.

Eddy giggled despite himself. He was on a roof, somewhere in the theater district. He stared at an antennae that resembled Christ on the cross. Somewhere nearby was "Larry", who had it out for Eddy, and couldn't forgive Eddy's latest escape from incarceration. Larry the Lizard stalked his old pal. Eddy looked out upon the glittering, shiny city..

Time to hunt.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#3

NOW

The old Ford pickup pulls into the lot in front of the motel, engine running hot after two days straight driving. Arkansas plates tell anyone who cares to look another sucker’s found his way to the Rotten Apple. Before the engine goes silent, the rats begin sniffing the air, eager for a fix, or a few bucks, or the simple fun to be had in sticking a stranger who wanders into the wrong territory.
The door opens and he steps out. The rats all freeze. The dust and dirt and Arkansas plates all promised one thing, but he ain’t here to deliver. Sure, he’s dressed in denim and checkered flannel, like you’d expect. Sure, he looks a bit old, a bit grizzled, a bit country. But his eyes...
He’s tall, maybe 6’3” or so. Lean, lanky. For all he looks a bit old and grizzled, he also looks fit. Not fit for a man his age fit, but fit. The faded denim and checkered flannel don’t hide the lean strength. The dark hair, cut short, severe, like that old drill sergeant in every movie you’ve ever seen. And his eyes. Those eyes...
You’d expect cowboy boots. Most days you’d be right. But he ain’t here to line dance, or walk the back forty. The Marine Corps Issue Combat Boots waited in a closet for near twenty years, taken out once every six months or so for a polish. But now they’re ready to work again. He’s ready to work again, back to what he always did best. They can see it. He’s ready. Whatever the rats might want to dish, he’s ready from the soles of those boots all the way up to his eyes. Those eyes...
If this were a movie, someone’d be stupid enough to approach a man like this while the audience laughs voyeuristically at the fate of an extra with one line. If this were a movie, there’d be a need to show the hero a bit by way of violent exposition. But this ain’t a movie, and he ain’t a hero. Hell, this ain’t no place for heroes. More importantly, something the movies never seem to remember or care about, the rats... Rats have finely honed instincts. Instinct which helps them seek out their prey. Instincts which warn them when something bigger and badder is near. The rats see the man, and they see a fellow predator; no, a super predator, one for whom rats are prey. They can see it in his eyes. Those eyes...
It ain’t the blue. They’re actually pretty nice for lookin’ at, most days. It ain’t the squint, hard and closed off against the garish neon glare of the motel sign. It’s death, plain and simple. Death in his calloused hands, and in the way he carries himself, the way he moves. But especially his eyes.
He ain’t a hero.
This man brought death with him.

Karl drops the case and the old duffel on the bed, looking around at the decrepit motel room. Torn, faded wallpaper, stained carpet, stained sheets; hell, stained everything. He shrugs. He’s slept in worse. At least this place has walls and a roof.
And anonymity.
It’s been a long drive, but Karl can’t rest yet. He sits up on the bed and opens the case, removing his Bravo. He examines every inch, every piece, checking to make sure everything is in order, same as he’s done a thousand times. Ten Thousand. Twenty, maybe more. Once, sometimes twice a day since he was old enough to pick one up. The difference between life and death is in the smallest sign of wear, the least imperfection, no matter what a man is hunting.
As he examines his weapon, he thinks. He goes over what he knows, and what he figures from that, planning his approach. When he’s done, he reaches into his duffel and removes the box holding his old Colt. The venerable model 1911A, semi auto, sidearm of choice among Marines for decades. The Corps switched over to M9s years ago, but Karl kept his old Colt. He examines it as thoroughly as the rifle, then places it under his pillow. The rats ain’t likely to bother him. But Karl ain’t a betting man.
Karl sets the case to the side of the bed, and lays down. He closes his eyes, and thinks of Katie. Part of him worries, but most of him knows worry don’t help none. He’ll need to be fresh when it’s time to hunt.

THEN

“It ain’t like that, Katie.”
Karl’s voice is soft. He rarely speaks louder than he has to, and he rarely has to speak loud. But there’s a pleading to his voice as he looks at his daughter.
Kathryn “Katie” Hathaway glares up at the man she’s called father for nearly seventeen years. She trembles, eyes burning, rage barely contained. In spite of the anger, she’s grown into quite the beauty, like her Ma. But now she looks at him with... betrayal in her eyes. Karl can’t blame her.
“Isn’t like that, daddy?!” Katie shouts up at him. She’s barely five-foot-four, a foot shorter than her daddy. It just means the rage is that much more compressed. “Isn’t like that? You killed my mom!”
“Dammit, girl!” Karl’s voice rises, not quite to a yell. Then he sighs and throws up his hands. Godd**n FOI, he thinks to himself. And why weren’t that bit classified anyhow? He looks down at Katie, at a loss for words. Karl closes his eyes and takes a breath before continuing.
“If you read that, then you read the rest. Your momma... they knew she was my guide. They told her, she didn’t kill me, they’d kill you. Hell, if I’d known when she pulled the knife, I might’ve let her. But then she was lyin’ there, an’ I asked her why, an’ she told me about you.”
Karl closes his eyes again. Seventeen years since that night and it was still fresh in his mind. Willie Caine, best spotter he’d ever served with, bleedin’ out - tactical miscalculation on her part, going for Willie first; Karl taking a blade in the gut, shredding his intestines; and his guide, laying there, gasping her last, shot through the heart. Karl never missed. Never.
“I asked her why, an’ she told me it was to keep you safe. So I did the only thing left to do, Katie. I promised her you’d be safe.”
“I wish she’d killed you!” Katie’s voice has turned cold, and she turns and walks away, slamming her bedroom door. Karl sighs, and sits heavily.
“Me too,” he says softly to the empty living room.

NOW

Karl’s eyes snap open, instantly alert. He sighs. Another painful memory, the day he lost his daughter. She never forgave him; Karl was never sure she should. He killed a lot of people. Never felt bad about any of ‘em. ‘Cept that one.
Karl glances at the clock. It’s time. He sits up.
Katie moved out the moment she turned eighteen, changed her name, back to her Vietnamese name, Khanh Phuong. Karl still paid for her college, sent money, made sure she had everything she needed. Katie accepted it, like he owed her, but that’s about it. They’d spoken a few times, but it was never the same, and Karl never knew how to make it right. Twenty five years and it still feels like another knife in the gut.
Karl heads to the sink to splash cold water on his face.
Twenty five years. But none of that matters now.
Katie’s in trouble.
It’s time to hunt.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#4

FBI Headquarters NY, 26 Federal Plaza, 23rd floor. Noon.

"You heard of this guy, OneShot?"

"No, you?"

"A little, he used to be a bad-ass, they say. Still is apparently, when he's not beating-off in Assface, Arkansas."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. What about this guy, Chosen?"

*Snort*. "Heard of him. Meth-head. Crazy bastard. Thinks he found god, and thinks god found him. And maybe the luckiest mother@!#$er in the history of the world."

"Yeah?"

'Yeah. This weasel-cocksucker been put away ten @!#$ing times. Escaped every time. Houdini mother@!#$er! Just escaped last week again!"

"No s**t!?"

"I s**t you not."

"Fuuuuck!"

"Yeah."

"And here's the file on our favorite mother@!#$er. Bloodhound. Dan the man. Ex-cop, current a-hole."

"Dirty @!#$ing alcoholic."

"Yeah. Listen, we don't have much time, Pete."

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#5

As he stood there, his hand nervously handled his blade, fingers tracing the outline of the crucifix he had carved into its handle. Chicken bone, inlaid with chicken bone. Not much available inside. That he had it at all was a continuing Sign for him.

“Chosen”

He had little else - everything else he had traded for the blow his plan had needed.

It worked, and now he had no idea what to do now of course, all that mattered then was to getting out of that hive of Devils and Sodomites. He was out. His fate now was with him and his Lord.

He stepped toward the fire-escape to climb back down. Temptations began to call to his mind and he reached for a non-existent package of cigarettes. That too was gone, as were his matches.

How he didn't end up in solitary this last time escaped him - his Lord surely must have had great things in mind for him, but Lord knows that plan was not clear to him. The world was a mess of Sinners and Devils.

Where should he start?

With that, his began to climb down the stairs, their cold metal bringing him back into the world of man.

He remembered a hostel a few blocks from here. He knew of few of the regulars there - weaklings, drinkers of Satan’s piss, but they owed him favours.

It was a start.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#6

Donovan checked his cheap digital watch again. "Sonuvabitch," he mumbled. It wasn't like he had all day and nothing better to do.

Well, actually he did. Still.

He turned the heat up, all the good it did in the POS car. The strong smell of oil and diesel exhaust hit him hard. Filter must be bad. He shut off the heat and zipped his coat tighter.

The diesel smell wasn't going anywhere. Donovan pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it with a Bic he found laying in the floor. It was a cheap off-brand that tasted terrible, but at least it did something to block the stench of the city and his crappy car.

Donovan checked his glove compartment. The gun was still there, a Colt Detective Special that had been in service longer than he was, but like him it still worked well enough. Cylinder was still full, a half-empty box of .38s ready and waiting next to it.

He didn't like this bit so much, the shooting and the blood and the screaming when you weren't careful, but it did pay the bills.

Closing the glove compartment, he checked his watch again. "Where are you, you b*stard?" he muttered around the cigarette.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#7

Eddy

Back among the sinners...

Hell's Kitchen.

Eddy made his way past the throngs along 8th avenue, heading to the homeless shelter-hostel.

It was cold.

The Groundhog didn't bother emerging few weeks back. Couldn't. Just froze to death in its hole.

Turn the right corner in the big city, and you could find anything you want...

Eddy turned toward 7th somewhere in the forties. The lunch crowd was out and about, descending upon food carts, cafes, and dirty-water dog stands like locusts. Sinners all. Soulless piranha.

Eddy paused beside a neon sign of a giant dildo. Sex shop. Everywhere was sin.

He felt a few hairs go rigid along his neck suddenly. His "spidey sense", except this was no comic book. This was the Chosen One's gift from the big man above.

He needed to move he knew subconsciously. Eddy lunged just as a bullet shattered the plexiglass of the sex shop's window where he was standing a second ago.

Broad @!#$ing daylight! Who the hell was gunning for him already? A few people ran, shoving each other out of the way. Someone screamed.

Where was a cop when you needed one?

Somewhere above, a lizard licked its lips and aimed again.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#8

He had been shot at before, though the last time it was rock salt from some godless hippy’s shotgun. The quality of the weed was excellent, and fortunately the hippy’s marksmanship less so.

His assailant was a better shot. He needed to get away, so the obvious choice was into the establishment of perverts. He dove through the shattered glass, over the implements of the sodomites and sinners and headed for the back of the store. The clerk was screaming, and Eddy snatched up a whip from a display and took cover behind a display cabinet.
Whoever was after him would expect him to come out the back. Eddy had no intention of doing what they expected.

“Girl, call the cops - there’s a terrist’ outside.”

That should bring em in a hurry he thought. Might make it difficult to get away, but it would make things difficult for the shooter too.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#9

Dan

Double parking on 7th wasn't the best idea of course.

He was being ticketed by a traffic cop douche bag, who stood there punching in the citation on his handheld with unabashed glee, taking his time and enjoying every second.

Dan was about to sling a few choice words at the button-punching ferret, when a knock on the passenger-door window interrupted him. It was another member of the weasel family. Breathing steam and grinning was Phil the Thrill. He pulled at the door handle and slithered inside Dan's car.

"Waiting long?" He whined, then added needlessly "You're getting a ticket."

Phil the Thrill was once a cop as well, long time ago, now he was a drug addict, runner and middle-man for Mr. Celophane, one of the city's vilest villains. An underground crime-boss, for whom Dan occasionally free-lanced.

"Have a new contract for you", Phil whined as he wiped frozen snot from his rat-like face. The mob runner's breath smelled of cabbage and tobacco.

At that moment, Dan's police band radio, went live with static and fast talking. Dan still had some friends, though few, in the force. The scanner device was a parting gift from one of them.

"All units, possible shots fired 7th and 41st. Someone called in yelling "terrorist."

More static.

Something was going down, just two blocks up from where Dan idled.

Phil the Thrill tittered and grinned. He looked more nervous than usual, Dan noticed.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#10

Dan turned down the radio down so it was barely audible and looked at Phil, waiting. "Well?" he said after a moment, spreading his hands. Phil looked expectantly at the radio then back at him. "I don't need that sh*t," he answered the unasked question. "Terrorist? Homeland Security can clean that up." Dan crumpled up the parking ticket and threw it in the back seat. "Unless Celophane's paying to round up Al-Qaida, it's not my problem."

Donovan sniffed the air and grimaced. "You're sweating more than usual. What's the problem?"

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#11

Karl

Karl stared at the mirror above the sink. An Old man stared back. OneShot.

He paid for the s**tty room in the s**tty midtown motel with cash. Fit right in with the other "customers", mostly pimps, johns, and hookers. The room for a few nights cost him less than the parking garage had charged him for his truck.

@!#$ing New York.

Karl didn't care. He was mentally trying to get to Dead Zero.

Dead Zero in sniper and precision shooting usage refers to the desirable state of affairs where after several trial shots (called "Ranging Shots") the horizontal cross-hair in the optical reticle have been adjusted for the distance and elevation of the target, and the vertical cross-hair has been adjusted for windage, and so the crossing of the two in the field of view of the shooter corresponds to the anticipated point of impact. The cross-hairs meet.

That's where Karl needed to get to, where he wanted to be. Dead Zero. But he was nowhere close to that. Didn't even have a target for the ranging shots. Had no clue really.

He was alone and unafraid, but had no idea how to begin searching for Katie. Kept coming back to the phone call, or The Phone Call, as he now referred to it internally.

Pretty quick call too, minus the chit-chat, from some ******* with a gravelly voice. "Your little **** of a daughter is in a whole lotta trouble, Mr. Hathaway. Better get to New York City if you want to see her alive again. *Click*"

So he drove, and now he was here. Time to hunt, but no target in his sights.

He picked up the phone and made a call. FBI's office, Federal Plaza. Knew a guy there, Teddy Best. Owed Karl a favor from way back. A receptionist told him Teddy wasn't available. Karl left his cell phone number for a call-back.

Stared back into the mirror.

Sirens wailed outside.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#12

NOW
In the darkness of the unlit room, Karl eases aside the drapes to look outside and see if the sirens mean it's time to move. The sound of sirens here is common, but something about these... the number... something tickles Karl's brain. Karl know to pay attention when that happens.
Maybe a quick recon, he decides.
A sliver of sunlight strikes reaches into the room and strikes the sleeping form of the hooker, who makes a little whimpering noise. Karl looks back at her and smiles...

THEN
"Oh! Oh! Oh God! Oh my God, baby, you're the best!"
Karl looks up from going over his kit. Sitting on his bed, filing her nails, the hooker shouts and moans like a pro.
"Easy, there, girl. I'm an old man. Don't oversell it."
She looks at him and smiles. This old man paid her $500 to sit here and scream for half an hour.
"You look like you know your business pretty well, old man. Well, I know mine too. This is how we do it." Then she shrieks out in simulated pleasure. "Later on I'll tell 'em you couldn't get your tiny dick all the way hard, but right now I'm supposed to be makin' you think you're Don Juan. 'Sides," she adds with a wink, "you ain't so old." She considers the man as she lets out a moan, just loud enough to be heard through the walls. "Except your eyes. You have old eyes."
Karl chuckles at that. He knew he'd found the right one the moment he saw her.
"Why me?" she asks him. "Dozen girls out there, all younger, prettier. You want to be really convincing, you'd go for one of them."
Karl looks at her a moment. "You're damn sure pretty enough." Karl's tone makes it a statement of fact rather than a compliment. "If you know enough to ask, you already know the answer. You're older, sure, but you ain't old. You got shrewd eyes. Clear eyes. You got enough meat on ya I can tell you ain't no junkie. And..." Karl trails off.
"Go on, old man."
"Stretch marks," he nods toward her midsection. She covers up, suddenly self-conscious, but Karl smiles. "Them other girls only got habits to feed. You got a kid."
She smiles at that. She didn't ask him why he wanted other people to think he was banging a hooker. Not her business. It's enough he paid her well over the going rate for her cooperation.
"What is all that, anyway?" she says, looking at Karl's kit.
Karl holds up the ratty clothes he got from the second hand shop on the drive up. "Camouflage."
"Camouflage," she echoes. "Just like me." Karl smiles. Yup. Shrewd. "I thought guys like you wore suits with leaves on 'em. I saw it on TV."
"Diff'rent jungle," Karl grunts. "Diff'rent Camo."
The woman nods. Then she moans, ending in a shuddering cry as she shouts, "Oh baby, you're so good!"
Karl finishes prepping his kit, and looks up at the hooker. "I figure I'm the sort of old man who pays for a night and then falls asleep fast, if you wanna get some shut-eye. I'll sleep in the chair."

NOW
"You wanna make even more money?"
The hooker looks at the old man, already dressed in his thrift store duds. She takes a quick inventory and realizes the man was true to his word. She slept the night away, unmolested. Now, at his offer, she considers him warily. "Depends," she says warily.
"Don't worry. Nothin' like that. Just wondered... you got a car nearby?"
She nods. "It's a piece of shit. Barely runs."
Karl nods back. "Perfect. I got $2000 cash, and the slip for my truck, parked in a garage a few blocks from here, for your car keys. You takea cab own and leave the truck off the streets a couple days, and it's all yours."
She eyes him. Two grand is a lot of money, even without the truck. Certainly more than her old piece of shit car.
"Mister, just what is it you're into?"
"That ain't a question you wanna hear the answer to, miss."
The hooker smiles, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "It's not often anyone calls me miss. You got a deal." She reaches into her purse and tosses him her keys. "She's two blocks up, tavern parking lot. Owner lets me park there when I work down here. She leaks oils like a sieve, but I got most of a case in the trunk. Was gonna get her fixed next month. I got a guy who takes the work in trade if I can pay for parts."
Karl nods, dropping twenty hundreds on the bed along with the keys to his truck. "Truck's a gas hog. I were you, I'd trade it in in a couple weeks for something more economical."
Karl sticks his Colt in the back of his pants, making sure he can reach it easy. If the gun surprises the hooker, she doesn't show it.
"Lock up when you leave," Karl says, then he slips out to see what all the fuss is about.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#13

Dan

"Sweating?! I pissed an ice slushy on the way here, trust me I ain't sweating, Bloodhound."

Dan knew sweat when he smelled it however. He was the damn Bloodhound for a reason.

"Mind if we drive a few blocks first? We're out in the open here. Hang a left next block, head for 9th. Quieter there."

There was something off with Phil today. Seemed less chatty, more jumpy.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot", he lied, "Here's your 8 Gs for that last thing. Phil stuck a rat-claw hand inside his stained parka and produced a crinkly brown paper baggie. Grinned again, "You don't want to count it right here in front of all the Macy's shoppers do you? Let's roll."

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#14

Eddy

The girl behind the counter looked pretty shook up. She didn't move a muscle, gaping at the whip-wielding Indiana Eddy once she put the phone down.

"Da@!#$?" She managed.

Eddy wasn't paying attention. He needed to get out and fast. Between the assassin (or whoever the @!#$ that was shooting) and the coming cops, there was a good chance he'd end up back in jail or dead in the next few minutes.

The porn shop had an upstairs apparently, and a back door. The front of the shop, which was now being blasted by freezing wind, led back out to 41st. Sirens blared, but no one was out front yet. Well, except for some d**n lunatic sniper somewhere.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#15

Karl

He found the hooker's ride, a tangerine-colored '91 ford escort soon enough.

Not far from the sirens.

In fact he could see a shop window that had obviously been smashed and shattered glass everywhere. Cops were coming from all sides, but midtown traffic is midtown traffic. Cops had trouble getting through to this particular corner. What looked like a SWAT van gave up on the driving and opened its back door. Predictably, SWAT guys pored forth and started running toward the--what was it?--Karl squinted--Oh sweet Lord, a porn shop.

At that moment Karl's phone rang. Or rather vibrated.

"OneShot? It's Teddy. You in the big apple, old timer? Haven't heard from you since that DC thing. How the hell are you, Hathaway? When I heard 'Karl with a k called', I said no @!#$ing way! What a surprise! Please tell me you're staying out of trouble."

Teddy had managed to include all three monikers, and got it all out before Karl could say hello.

That was Teddy. Bit unusual but a good agent. Loved his job.

Karl had saved the fledgling agent's life back during that DC thing, and ever since that day Teddy Best loved him some OneShot.

As he was about to answer Ted, something caught Karl's eye above, and he could make out what for 1 second anyway, looked like a guy dressed in a lime-green lycra outfit, wielding a rifle, duck back from the roof of the building on the opposite side of the porn shop, about 5 stories up.

Gunny had good eyes.

Not his problem. But Mr. Mojo stirred a little.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#16

Donovan took the bag and jammed it between his seat and the console. "Ninth," he repeated, putting the car into drive. "Right. Quiet."

His eyes darted to the glove compartment for a moment. Sh*tty time to leave his gun out of reach. It wasn't that he couldn't handle the rodent without it.

It was the rest of the filthy, stinking pack that worried him.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#17

Dan

"Mind if I play the radio?"

He didn't wait for a response, instead twisted the dial with his greasy fingers.

"Don't want to listen to cop problems, amirite?" Grinned.

Nervous twitch, eye fluttered.

Amy Winehouse started moaning about not wanting to go to rehab.

Few minutes later, while passing what looked like a serious situation with SWAT guys and everything, Dan pulled up next to a giant multi-level parking garage.

"Perfect." Said Phil the Thrill and stopped grinning.

"The next contract is you buddy" he said quietly, and Dan could now see something sticking out through Phil's parka in his lap. A fucking gun of course.

"Mr. Celophane sends his regards, Danny boy. Any last words?"

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#18

Dan sighed through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tightly as a long list of expletives scrolled through his head. "Right," was all he managed to mutter.

He turned his head toward Phil. "Don't suppose there's anything to talk you outta this, huh?" he said hopelessly. "Can't pay you or offer - " He paused suddenly, his eyes locking on the window behind behind Phil the Thrill. He blinked and suddenly locked eyes with Phil again. "Offer to, uh, get your record cleared or something?"

Donovan swallowed hard. Could it work? It could work, right?

"No no no, baby," Ms. Winehouse pleaded.

"Look, be reasonable," he said, a little less hopeless than before. "We can both walk outta this decent if you play it right." He tried to gage Phil's reaction before his eyes darted behind him again, only for a moment. "Doesn't have to get messy."

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#19

THEN
The view wasn't the best.
Karl found a spot in the back. No way she'd see him there, but it made seeing her harder too. Up front, at the podium, the dean called out names. He'd already passed the letter H without saying her name, but Karl'd been expecting that. She's dropped the name Hathaway a couple years back.
"Khanh Phuong," the dean said. Up front, several student applauded a bit louder, Katie's friends. Karl watched as his daughter stepped up to the podium, pretty as her momma, and twice as strong. Even if that strength had been turned against him all this time, Karl couldn't help but respect it.
Katie - Khanh - accepted the diploma and the dean's handshake with her brilliant smile, then moves the tassel on her cap and marches off the stage to receive the hugs and congratulations of her friends.
Karl stood and walked out the back.

NOW
It doesn't take fifty years of experience to know a man on a roof with a rifle ain't a good thing.
"Ted, shut up a sec," Karl says. Teddy's an okay guy, but he talks too much, and he needs a grown-up name. Or maybe run for president.
"I'm lookin' for Katie. She's in trouble. But... right now... you know anything about some SWAT guys storming a shop at 7th and 41st? There's a man on the roof opposite. He's armed, looks like a serious piece of iron.
Karl parks the old car, and gets out, phone still to his ear and he ambles toward the building. He talks as he goes, phone in his left hand, right free to draw, an automatic reflex.
"I'm heading up." Karl's eyes search as he heads toward the building. He's forgotten to walk like an old man. He walks like a hunter.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#20

A decision made.

He simply walked out the front door and made a hard right, hugging close to the wall. He had banked on the sniper expecting him to come out the back, and for the incoming cops to spook him. Time to follow through on that. He let the whip drop to the floor. Stealing was a sin, after all.

From the noise of the sirens, there would not be much time to get lost, so he turned towards the parking garage.

He saw the SWAT team members in the distance. Hopefully he looked like a simple rat. He carried no gun, and was nearly as pale as the snow. No one would mistake him for a terrorist. Pervert leaving a sex shop.

Sure.

And he had his Lord looking out for him.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#21

"Karl? Katie's in trouble? What's going on?! Karl? No wait don't head up anywhere! I'm on my way!"

The old man moved not at all like a old man. He noticed the blown-out porn shop window and could now see a swarm of activity inside. Instead Karl headed across the street.

Fancy apartment building. Green-clad rifle sniper was somewhere above, probably still on the roof.

Entering he could see a security guy sitting behind a desk with a phone in his hand and a confused look on his face. An elevator bank behind the desk. Highest # was 7.

****

Phil the Thrill licked his dry, caked lips.

"Someone behind me?" Phil grinned. "Sorry, chum, that won't fly.

"Sorry, chum", he annoyingly said again, "Can't talk me out of it. Mr. Celophane gets what he wants. Before I shoot, I suppose I can let you in on a little secret though. Ever hear the name, Dr. Insano? No? Well, according to Mr. Celophane, there is a reckoning coming on all you people. All you freaks. And Mr. Celophane couldn't wait to get started...on you."

Phil made a sound half-way between a snarl and a snort. Stared at Dan, gun raised. Sig Sauer P229, not that the brand of the gun mattered.

****

No one even noticed Eddy as he quickly shuffled off. 'Course you'd figure one of the SWAT guys would not only notice but quickly apprehend him as a potential witness at the very least, but no. The Lord was on his side.

As Eddy shuffled toward the parking lot maze he suddenly spied an idling car. Dodge Intrepid. Inside sat two men, facing each other. The one in the passenger seat held a gun aloft.

Crime never stopped. Even with a potential "terrorist attack" a block away.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#22

Dan sighed wearily. "Worth a try."

He felt himself get warm, angry. The nerve. Killing a guy in his own car? And after more than one job well done? Ain't right. And especially sending a rat like the Thrill to do it - just dirty.

Donovan gripped the wheel tighter. Going out like this? It was too much. He let the wheel go, smashing a fist on the driver's door. "You know what, Phil?" he shouted, looking him in the eye. "You can take that lousy SIG, shove it up your ass, and empty the g*dd**n clip. I'm done! F*ck you, f*ck Celophane, f*ck Mister Insano, f*ck all of you!" He punched the steering wheel for good measure, a short bleat sounding from the Intrepid's horn. "You know what the problem is with this sh*thole of a city? It stinks. The whole thing reeks to high hell. You stink. The river stinks. Every hooker and john, every lousy back alley dumpster, every sewer drain, the whole f*cking thing, from Long Island to Staten, it stinks. I'm done."

"You wanna shot me, you prick?" He pointed a middle finger at his own chin. "Just do it. Pull the f*cking trigger already and do it."

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#23

It was that moment that something slammed hard against the rear window, glass shattered.

Moments before, Eddy picked scooped up a beer bottle, his nose wrinkling at the odor. A prayer, and he sent the glass missile hurtling against the window.

He did not stop to see its result, already ducking towards the nearby alley.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#24

"Be over by the time you get down here, Ted. Bring your chalk." The chalk they use to outline bodies. "You'll need it one way or th' other."

Karl takes a moment to look over the elevators, all waiting nicely on the ground floor. Then he heads for the stairs. Shooter would know not to stick himself in a box if he could help it.

"Ted, I'm goin' dark. Call ya when it's done." Karl hangs up without another word and sticks his phone in a pocket. It's already on vibrate so it won't make any noise.

As Karl enters the stairwell, out of sight of the security guard, he draws his Colt, flicking off the safety with a practiced gesture. There's already a round in the chamber, and seven more waiting behind it in the mag. Moving as fast as he can move without making too much noise, Karl heads up the stairs, clearing every landing before heading up.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#25

An explosion of glass sounded behind the two. Dan expected to feel the rain of shards, but it didn't come. Phil the Thrill, apparently expecting the same, yelped and cringed, drawing his hands - and the gun - up towards his face.

That was all Donovan needed.

He threw his left hand around Phil's wrist and thrust it into the dash. A snap told him he broke the ulna, sending the gun into the seat. With his right hand he grabbed a handful of Phil's greasy mane and slammed his head into the dash. Then he did it again. And again.

"You," thunk, "stupid," thunk, "mother," thunk, "f*cker! You think you can pull a gun on me?!" A left fist to the jaw. "In my car?!" Another punch.

Right hand still holding Phil's increasingly bloodied face, Donovan grabbed the gun with his left and tucked the barrel under the rat's chin. "I am the Bloodhound, you son of a b*tch," he growled. "You don't sneak sh*t past me."

Dan wasn't a southpaw, but at point blank it didn't matter. Two shots, under the mandible so they bounced around inside the skull. Nice and clean.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#26

Karl

OneShot raced up the staircase like a panther, casing as he went, ignoring the security doorman's cries of "Hey, wait, where you going?!"

By the 7th floor he was breathing a bit, but not out of breath. One more floor led to the roof. Karl pushed open the door, setting off an alarm. Who cares? He was on the roof.

It was freezing up here. The wind blowing twice as strong as it was below. Sweat along his neck cooled and nearly froze, giving him an involuntary chill.

He glanced around with a sniper's eye. Empty. Just the howling wind. Not even an empty shell from the rifle.

He raced around the edges of the roof looking down and suddenly, bam!

Six o'clock. A lime-green joker--you can't make this s**t up--scaling the building's ninety degree wall downwards, a rifle strapped to his back. A GA Precision Crusader, from the looks of it. Nice gun.

Lime-green was somewhere by the 4th floor, Karl figured. Halfway down the opposite side of the building. Moving quickly like some @!#$ing...wait for it...lizard. Lime-green though? Was this the idiot's idea of camouflage against the New York gray?

Phone vibrated in Karl's pocket.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#27

NOW
Karl watches the green man scale down the building, quickly considering his options. He ignores the phone. Dammit, Ted, Going Dark means Going Dark!

Karl can't jump off a building, leastways not 'til he knows Katie's safe. By the time he runs down, the feller on the wall will be gone. But... Karl sees a man with a rifle... that's all. He hasn't seen the man commit any crime - 'less you count the crime against nature of the man's jacket. Can't shoot a man just 'cuz he's got a rifle or extra sticky fingers. What kind of precedent would that set? Sure, the feller is probably up to no good. But probably ain't good enough. Too bad the feller wasn't still up here. He mighta tried to shoot Karl, and then Karl'd know fer sure.

But nothin' says the man should get to keep the rifle. Karl aims his Colt, sighting in...

THEN
A month.

*blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam*

Karl looks downrange at the target. He'd need a few more rounds to make it smile like the feller in that movie, but the Colt only holds seven in the mag and one on the chamber. Still, it's enough.

A month since the heart attack that should've killed him. Should've, in the sense of there's no way he could have survived an attack that bad way out here with no help. But also should've in the sense that he ain't got nothing to live for anyhow. A few tarnished medals, a lifetime of regret, and a daughter who won't pick up the phone when he calls. Might as well be dead.

Karl picks up a new, clean target and starts trudging down the slight slope to the target, 400 yards away. He muses as he walks.

A month since the heart attack.

Colt shouldn't be able to hit s**t at 400 yards. Even if it could, Karl shouldn't be able to sight that accurately with a pistol at 400 yards. But ever since the heart attack, lots of weird s**t's been going on. Wakin' up, for starters. Wrinkles fading. Aches going away. Muscle tone returning. Hair growin' back brown, hell, growin' back at all. Karl had to cut his hair for the first time in twenty years last week. Lookin' in the mirror he looks twenty younger. He moves even younger than that. He's in better shape now than he's ever been, even at the top of his game back in 'nam. But the shooting...

When Karl sights down the barrel, his vision sights in, time slows, his hand steadies. And... something... something flows through him. The bullets fly faster and farther, hit harder, without making any extra noise. Karl can snipe with a pistol now, out to about 600 yards on a good day. You don't even wanna know what he can do with a REAL gun. It took a week of practice and his old trigonometry book to the the scope adjusted right. Same rifle, same round, same load, but the bullet leaves the gun at nearly 6,000 feet per. Which means the bullet is less effected by gravity and wind because it's in the air less time. Karl's had to rework all the shooting tables for every d**n gun he owns.

Which wasn't a problem, because it's all he has left. None of it matters a d**n anyhow.

Karl walks past the pistol target, heading to the new spot for the rifle's target, two and a half miles away.

NOW

Karl fires, not at the man, but at the weapon. One bullet is all it should take. Then, if the guy is smart, he'll freeze a bit, and they can talk.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#28

Eddy knew Hell broke out in the car, he hoped that the best man won, but he really was not interested in yet another gunfight.

One near miss was quite enough. Time to leave.

Again he was fingering his knife in his pocket, careful not to press the button.

Which way? He had no idea now where his assailant could be - the only sign might be the impact of a bullet.
Would that be so bad? Maybe. He had a lot of Sins to erase, and Sinners to save.

He had tried in the past, though the Lord had always put something in the way. One of his 'friends' had turned out to be an ex-paramedic, and kept him from meeting Saint Peter. Another time, some wino had grabbed him at the last moment, the freight train blasting by, its horn deafening. Saved from the ultimate Sin by a drinker of Satan's Piss.

He paused and looked back at the car, ignoring the wails of the sirens.

This most recent story was no accident. Like everything else, the Lord was guiding him and placed this opportunity before him. He needed friends, and he may have just made one.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#29

Wasn't pretty inside the car.

Dan felt a few hot drops of blood on his own face.

Phil's head was leaking and oozing from the nose, ears, eyes and mouth. The rest of him was limp.

His scrambled-eggs brain had muffled the shots like a dense melon.

Looking quickly around, Dan spied a bow-tied parking attendant approaching the car from down a ramp and through the cracked back windshield a shadow of a figure. The bottle thrower?

Either way, time to go. Besides the SiG, a quick search of Phil's parka pockets revealed a cell phone, some loose cash, and what looked like a black, logo-less credit or bank card, with something akin to a bar code in a corner, its only feature.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#30

The Lizard indeed froze, as Karl's bullet hit its target, not the crawler, but his GA Precision Crusader sniper rifle. The single shot was perfect, too perfect in fact, and the damaged rifle, strapped to the Lizard's back only a second ago, was now free-falling, strap and all, minus its owner.

The "creature" looked up. Karl looked down. The crawler had goggles on and examined Karl for a moment with glazed bug-eyes, then started trying to break a window he was near, and scurry back inside the building.

The cell phone in Karl's pocket would not stop vibrating.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#31

Donovan shoved Phil's corpse out of the seat, cramming him into the floor. He didn't have much time, the whole scene was a huge mess. Dan draped the parka over the body, enough to cover it. Instead of a bloodied corpse, it looked like a parka-covered corpse.

Better than nothing.

Putting Phil's earthly belongings into the console storage, Dan straightened himself and adjusted the mirror. He could see streaks of blood covering his face. "Sh*t," he muttered, pulling napkins out of the glove compartment and wiping away what he could. He hated the smell of blood. It stunk like iron and insides, and even when you thought you wiped it away the smell would linger.

He threw the car into reverse. Pulling the flask from his jacket, he took a long swig before backing out. Time to go somewhere else.

Something caught his eye in the mirror. He hit the brakes and rolled down the window. "Hey," he said to the figure. "You throw that bottle?" He looked around quickly. "Get in," he said without waiting for an answer. He glanced in the passenger seat. "Probably want the back seat."

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#32

Eddy ignored the dead man, though his nose wrinkled at the smell.

"Sure Friend", he said, with no trace of sarcasm in his voice. Anywhere was better than here, and he didn't shoot him.

He took the back seat, and even buckled the seat belt. It was the Law of course.

"Sorry about the window." he said, an afterthought.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#33

Karl watches the weird lizard man, still not sure enough to take a kill shot. Then he pulls his weapon away from the target and steps away from the edge of the roof, cursing to himself as he does. The goddamn phone won't stop, and Karl, pissed already, grabs it out of his pocket and answers without looking at the ID - not that he's used to all these newfangled doodads and gadgets anyhow.

"Goddammit, Teddy!" Karl only uses the kiddie name when he's pissed. "Goin' dark means goin' dark, not pester the hell out of me!"

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#34

"Well, I am alive thanks to you, so we'll call it even." He pulled out into the street. "Dan Donovan," he introduced himself. "Bloodhound, if you'd rather."

He stopped at a light, adjusting the mirror to get a better look at the man he'd picked up. He looked like a wretch, one of the thousands of dope fiends and meth heads the city was so graciously infested with. Still, the guy had done him a solid.

"So what's your story?" he asked as the light turned green. "And where's your favorite place to dump a body?"

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#35

"Edward Stringer, Eddy will do. I've been Chosen by Him to help save the Sinners from themselves.

Today you have been given more time to repent, and the other, his time has ran out. The Lord led me to you, chose me to help you.

We have something in common - someone tried to kill me too today, though he is still breathing I expect.

Where to dump the body? Praise the Lord it has not been something I've needed to worry terribly much, but I do know a stretch of rail where they don't raise a lot of attention. Might make a mystery of his last few moments. "

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#36

"No sh*t?" Dan asked, mildly amused. "Straight from the Almighty hisself? How about that.

Crap luck, though, you got someone out for you. Once word gets out about Phil here, I'll be in the same boat again. We'll find some place to stay low."

He pulled the box of cigarettes from his pockets and offered one to Eddy. "So where's this rail of yours?"

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#37

Sometime later near the Stillwell Avenue Train depot, Brooklyn, NY

Phil didn't complain as his corpse was being dumped by Dan and Eddy along the rails of the serpentine maze of tracks.

A homeless guy squatting some distance away didn't complain either. He could barely make out the proceedings through his crack-haze.

With Phil taken care of, that left, well, nothing to do. Eddy stared at Dan, and Dan stared back at Eddy as he exhaled smoke.

As soon as they got back to the car, Phil's cell phone was singing, "Lust for Life" by Iggy Pop. Caller ID said, "Mr. C". Before Dan could decide whether to pick up the call or not, the song stopped. No voice mail.

Back to Manhattan they drove, through the battery tunnel, as late afternoon spilled over into evening.

Later still...

Dan couldn't afford the apartment he was living in. It was a loft somewhere in the nooks and crannies of Soho. Once he had shared it with his girlfriend, but she left him, everyone had left him, and had moved back to North Carolina. He was going to propose to her the very same night that he was kicked out of the NYPD, but when he got home with the ring, all that waited for him was a Dear John note, and her cat, Bonkers.

Bonkers meowed loudly when Dan stumbled in, followed closely by a nervous Eddy.

Dan popped open the fridge. Beer mostly. Three kinds of mustard and nothing to put it on.

He took a beer, and turned on the TV.

Eddy stood there taking it all in. When Dan had asked him where he should drop him off, Eddy stuttered through several options...homeless shelter, the hospital (hey it was warm there!), the old church on Broadway, Penn Station...

Dan sighed and offered Eddy a place to spend the night.

Now here they were.

TV blathered on and on. The evening news, when suddenly,

"And now, for a special report. According to numerous eye witness statements and reliable sources, the "Supers" are back in town. Yes folks, all your favorites from yesteryear! We now go live to Linda Velasquez in midtown..."

Hi John, and thanks. Yes, I am standing here with Ruud Schmekels, aka The Bouncer. As many of you know, The Bouncer was once one of the Fab Five, along with Professor Skate, Cherub, Hazmat, and the still missing, Artie Shaw, aka Wing-Man. It has been some years now since the repeal of the Supers Act by Congress, and slowly but surely, our favorite heroes are appearing in the Big Apple again!"

"Mr. Schmekels---"
"I prefer The Bouncer"
"Mr. Bouncer, then. What brings you back to NYC?"
"Looking for action, lady, and need to pay the bills. The clubs can't bounce themselves."
"
And so on...the interview with The Bouncer went on and on, without covering anything remotely interesting.

"For The Bouncer, I'm Linda Velasquez, now back to you in the Studio, John"

"Thanks Linda. Wow, the Bouncer. Remember him? Good times, good times. My personal favorite, I have to say, was always, Miss Sphinx, if you know what I'm saying, hehe...hrrm. Well, here's hoping no super villains are returning to town, along with all of our fractured heroes. And now a commercial break."

Eddy shifted on the sofa. He knew a few of those names. Knew Cherub quite well. A priest who worked at the Trinity church by Wall Street. Born in 1901, Cherub had always claimed his power was none other than immortality. And who could argue, he was still going strong at 114 years of age. Eddy had almost joined the Fab Five (Fab Six would never work) back in the day, but no one except Cherub would have him. Meth was a major issue for Eddy back then.

Dan wasn't listening. He was staring at the day's "prizes" tossed on the table. Phil's cellphone, Phil's gun, the 8 grand cash in a brown paper baggie, and Phil's mysterious black, logo-less credit-card looking thingie.

It was almost midnight. Neither man was sleepy. Neither was Bonkers.

Dan's phone rang. Not Phil's, but Dan's. Taking a piss in the bathroom, Dan couldn't get to it in time. Voice-mail. It was his lone remaining buddy on the Force. The message was as follows:

"D, it's me. I'm not sure what you've been up to today, but there's an FBI guy looking for you. Stopped by the precinct, asked "How does one go about 'finding' The Bloodhound." A few of the guys told him to @!#$ off, a few said you were off the grid. I just ignored him. But he seemed intent, D. I mean like REALLY @!#$ing looking for you...ASAP. Ok, take care."

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#38

NOW

"Karl, it's me, yeah. Listen, there is big s**t going down and I can't get to you at the moment."

Karl shakes his head there on the rooftop, then turns to head for the fire escape, fastest way down. He's not gonna catch the creepy lizard guy, but maybe he can get to the weapon and just maybe someone can get print off it. It'd be wiped down by a pro if it were deliberately left, but a man bringing it with him might not have been as careful.

"I don't give a @!#$ about whatever big s**t you're takin' over at the eff-bee-aye, Ted." His voice is calmer than he feels, training taking over, muting his emotions. "All I care about is finding Katie. Best you can do for me is keep outta my way."

"What happened to Katie??!!" Ted sounds as alarmed as Karl feels. A little TOO alarmed. A little personal like. Karl makes a mental note to beat Teddy to a pulp later. Karl takes the fire escape steps two at a time as he answers.

"I don't know. Got a call. Katie says she's in trouble, then some other fella comes on the line and says I best get myself to this @!#$ing city if I wanna see her again. That's it. No instructions, nothing. So here I am, just like they wanted, only I ain't waitin'. I'm hunting."

Ted's quiet a sec. Then, "Oh well s**t....*thinks*...Listen Karl, there is a guy, who may be able to help. Ever hear of "Bloodhound"? Was a cop, not anymore. Dirty they say, but he's like you...i mean like *one of you*. Know what I mean? They say he can find ANYONE, ANYWHERE...i found his cellphone # though I cant find him yet. It's 555-3893..."

Karl sighs. He doesn't like trusting, needing, or relying on other people. But this is a big city. "Alright, I'll give him a call. And maybe you can help. Call from Kate came in on my home line. Don't got caller ID or any of that fancy s**t, but maybe you can pull the records. Easy to find. Only time the phone's rung the entire week."

Karl stops in the alley by the busted gun. "An' I left a present for you in the alley. Couldn't get the guy, but I got his gun. Wasn't expected to lose it, so maybe he left prints on it fer ya. I'll kick it under the dumpster 'fore I run. Now, I'm going dark for real. Try to remember what that means this time."

"Ok, listen. I will find you and help as soon as--"

Whatever else Ted has to say, Karl didn't catch as he hung up, then quickly dialed the other number as he walked out of the alley.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#39

NOW

Donavan's phone rings again just as he puts it down. Doesn't recognize the number. He answers. "Yeah?"

Karl speaks in a gruff, kinda gravelly voice. "You the one some call Bloodhound?"

Donovan looks over to Eddy, who sits staring blankly on the couch. Donovan steps further into the kitchen, lowering his voice. "Maybe. Who's this?"

Karl knows "Maybe" means "Yes" on a question like that. "Name's Hathaway. I'm told you can find just about anything."

"Could be,” Donovan said. “What is it you're looking for, 'Hathaway?'" It sounded like a fake name. Not that it mattered.

"My daughter."

"Uh-huh," Donovan answered without skipping a beat. Wasn't the first time he had to find family. Would be a rarity if they turned up alive. "I need some context. Any idea what happened to her?"

Karl hesitated a moment, knowing the answer wouldn’t help. "Not a d**n. Got a call a couple days ago. Katie said she was in trouble, but then some feller come on the line and said I best get myself to New York if I wanted to see her again. Nothing else. No instructions, no demands, no place I s'posed to be in the godd**n city. No way to contact him. Just get to New York."

Donovan paused. Something about this didn't smell right. "No sh*t. Not a trace, huh? Alright, we'll have to meet up somewhere. Where are you?"

Karl grunted while driving the POS "Stayin’ in a s**t motel in a s**t neighborhood, using hookers for camouflage." Karl provides the name and address of the s**t motel in the s**t neighborhood, only a few blocks from some recent action. "I'm headin' back there now, just a couple blocks."

"Okay, I know the place.” Donovan thought a moment. “There's a little Chinese place down the block. Can't miss it, it stinks like squid. We'll meet there in an hour. You're gonna bring anything you have of Katie's. Clothes, personal items, letters, whatever you can find. A thousand cash up front. We can talk about the rest later."

After a moment, he added, "You need to, you check me out. Hathaway, Karl, Marine Corps, retired. I'm known to some."

Donovan jotted down the name on a fast food receipt nearby. "Well, you have my number, so you'll just have to take it I'm who you think I am."

"You help me find my daughter and I don't care if you're @!#$in' Lucifer himself," said. Dirty cop? Don’t care if it helps get Katie back.

Donovan chewed his lip for a moment. "Look, I don't normally say something like this, but don't strut that attitude too much. It sounds like you're dealing with a high player here. I don't know who, but keep your head down."

"Boy,” Karl was getting dangerously close to old man mode. “I was one-one for near thirty-five years. Didn't do nothin' but keep my head down."

"Yeah, Marine, I heard you. I'm just saying, don't talk to no one or do any stupid s**t like that. It'd do us both a favor."

Karl pulls the POS he bought for way too much from the hooker into the lot of the tavern she keeps it in. He can walk the two blocks back to the motel. "Don't you worry none. This ain't my first tour in the jungle. But so you know, I did get a call from a friend. A fed I met a few years back. He knows about Katie and he knows what I'll do to get her back safe."

Donovan runs through the list of Feds he knows through his head. There were more in the enemy column than the friend, but there wasn't much to do for it. "Look, sure it doesn't need to be said, but this is a no guarantee type situation, okay? I'll sniff out what I can, but I can only find 'em in, ah, whatever condition they're in."

"Understood,” Karl said, pushing down the fear those words brought. If you can't find her, or if you find her too late to help her... well then maybe you can help me find them what's hurt her and I'll do what I do."

Donovan nodded to no-one. "Well that bit would cost you extra, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Chinese place, one hour, thousand in cash." He suddenly remembered Eddy. "Oh, I'll be bringing my, uh, assistant too. Any questions?"

"One hour. I'll have my assistant too, but he stays quiet unless s**t hits the fan." And tucked into the back of his denim, Karl doesn’t add.

Donovan sighs. "Sure, more the merrier. Alright, see you there."

"Affirmative." Karl hangs up, then goes into his room. The hooker’s cleared out, nothin’ touched. He knew he picked good.

Re: All You Need Is Kill

#40

Eddy was restless, though he tried not to show it. Just like he tried to keep his hand from reaching for his non-existent smokes.

He saw Dan drink his Satan swill with barely hidden revulsion, but kept his own consul. He sensed right now was not a good time. He could be saved later.

Cherub was still alive, maybe he was right. Their last meeting had not gone well - theological differences as it were.

Eddy had availed himself of the shower and ‘borrowed’ a few items of clothes. He was tired of wearing Jeff’s civvies. Guess he would be wearing a few of Dan's, though they were quite a bit too big for him.

Poor Jeff. Wonder if they would still let him out? He would be so whacked out that when they found him he might do something stupid and get thrown back in. He hoped so - Jeff still needed time to be Saved, and he was certain to go back to Satan’s work.

He had run down through his mind the list of enemies that might want him dead, and have been able to find him so quickly. Very few fit both - most of those who really hated him were ignorant trailer-park trash, er less gifted of Gods children.

The Lizard?

Eddy would not have classified him as overly intelligent, but there certainly was no love lost between them. But the last he knew, the Lizard was in a Supermax, not the minimum security prison Eddy had so recently escaped. If he got out, and he found Eddy, than something very strange was going on. Satan had a hand in this, Eddy was certain.

As they got up to leave, Eddy looked over at Dan and looked meaningfully at the gun on the table. “May I?” Eddy said. He hated guns, but he also hated not having one. Like so many other things...