Shadowmen Objective, page 12
part #2 of Curve of Humanity Series
**~**
Police stations had a stench that Damon didn’t find appealing. Burnt coffee, stale sugar from hours old donuts and desperation. He sat in the chief’s office in a nice suit and tie waiting for the man to show up. Seven minutes late. He didn’t like impunctuality. Time was precious. A quick survey of the room made him want to run from this place.
The door opened and a barrel-chested man in an equally well tailored suit entered. He had dark short hair peppered with grey and small craters along his cheeks. In one hand was a mug of said burnt coffee and in the other was a tablet displaying his personal file. The chief plopped down in his chair and set his items aside. Black sludge swayed in the mug. Damon’s stomach lurched.
“Well, I see you’re one of those smart asses who tested high. Going straight to detective rank. No job experience.”
Damon wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer to that so kept quiet.
“Not much of a talker, huh?” The chief grimaced and took a sip of his coffee.
“I didn’t know it was a question. Sorry.”
The chief set his mug down and glared at him.
“You really are a smart ass. Let me tell you something.” He pointed a finger at him as he began talking.
Damon fought back the urge to roll his eyes upward.
Good gravy!
He tuned out the chief’s rantings and reached in his pocket for the pack of chewing gun given to him by the organization. He took a piece out and put it in his mouth. Biting down into the hard shell and tasting the bitter soft center made him squeeze his eyes shut.
“Did you just put gum in your mouth?”
The chief’s voice grated as it cut through the fog in his head.
“Yes, sir. Mouth felt a bit dry.”
“Were you listening to me?” The chief roared.
“Absolutely.” The man’s frown deepened. “Sir.”
“Get out of my office!”
He stood, still pointing, this time at the door behind him. Damon sighed and got up, leaving the small room.
On the main floor, all the workers had stopped what they were doing to glance at the office and watched him emerge. Some seemed curious while others, particularly the uniforms, gave him that look. The one that said he didn’t belong here and there would be no friends to back him up.
Ain’t that the truth?
He proceeded to the empty desk with his name plaque on it and stared down at the baby pacifier with a box of wet naps beside it. Snickers erupted around him. He kicked the bottom drawer and it popped open with a loud clang, causing everyone to jump. He slid the items in and kicking it closed, sat down.
“Hey!” An officer a few desks down from him yelled. “Some of us have to work. Keep that shit down.”
Strange stares were averted to him and he wondered what everyone was waiting for. A fight? Submission? They would get neither. He ignored the man and turned on his touchscreen. The logo for the department he was working flipped around in the middle of it.
Drug Enforcement.
Great.
“Did you hear me, newbie?” The officer had stood up from his desk was approaching him.
Shit! Really?
“You better answer when someone’s talking to you.”
The officer was almost near his desk, so he calculated the distance. As he crossed the threshold of his space, Damon stood, pushing the desk forward with his pelvis and sent it right into the officer. The man went flying backwards into the desk catty corner from his and people made loud hisses and ‘ohs’.
Yeah, that had to hurt.
“Oh damn!” He said in mocked concern. “You alright, pal?”
He went to see if he could help. Another detective stopped him.
“Don’t worry about it. We got this. Not your fault. These desks are shit and there’s no sign of a budget for new equipment coming soon.”
Damon took a look around and confirmed the office area was indeed lacking.
“Plus, that guy’s an asshole.” His eyes went wide with disbelief and the detective let out a loud guffaw. “Detective James,” he said, holding out a hand.
Damon took it and shook.
“Damon Peterson,” he replied. “Good to meet you. Does that apply to the chief, too?”
“Oh, more than you know,” Detective James said. “Be careful. Newbies tend to get the shaft around here.”
“For how long?”
A female uniform came around the desks and slapped Damon on the back.
“Maybe a year or two.” She smiled at him then winked.
Another detective on the other side raised his coffee mug at him in salute.
Fuck my life.
The taste of stale, stiff gum evaded his senses and he spit it out into the trash can under his desk. His stint of drug busts and reports had begun.
**~**
Guns were a necessary tool of the trade for any assassin. What kind and its style depended on the wielder. The organization’s chief buyer had found an underground gunsmith who didn’t have any moral compass as to who he made his wares for. That was perfect in his book. He strolled down the cobblestoned street and turned into a narrow alley. At the end on the left was an entrance. Its old metal door had been retrofitted with three locks and he guessed they were probably deadbolts.
He did the coded knock and heard the locks being slammed open from the other side. The door creaked open and he stepped into a dimly lit foyer. A young boy of maybe twelve ushered him in then rebolted the door. Only one of them was a deadbolt. He was led down the hall, through a wooden door and down into the basement. Bright light assaulted him as he stepped into the workshop.
At the bench sat a man in his early forties engraving the side of a small arms piece. His focus was intense as the buyer watched the magnified eye go unblinking. The gunsmith finally sat up straight and turned to him. He lifted the eyepiece up away from his face.
“What you want from me?” His accent was thick.
“I have business for you.”
“A piece?” The gunsmith seemed disappointed.
“Not a piece. Long term. Many, many pieces.”
That perked the gunsmith right up and his eyes beamed. The buyer had researched the man. He was getting small commissions, vanity pieces, on a random basis. There was enough money for food and shelter most of the time but he still struggled. With a small son to take care of, he longed for more work. The buyer pulled out the mini dossiers and set them in front of the gunsmith.
“I need you to make special guns for these people.”
“How special?”
“You can incorporate color in the metal.”
That was also something the gunsmith was wanting to do. Experiment with making vibrant metals that showed off his talent. The gunsmith frowned.
“How much?”
The man had been cheated on pricing many times before because of his unknown status. When most people in the area wanted a piece made, they went to the bigger smiths. The buyer found their craftsmanship lacking. They were nothing like what this man could do.
“Five thousand each.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward.
“How many?”
The buyer tapped the stack of dossiers. There were at least twenty.
“And there will be more to come over the next decade.”
“How much time to do jobs?”
“However long it takes. They need to be perfect.”
The gunsmith grinned.
“I do perfect.”
When the buyer left after two hours of conversation with the gunsmith, he headed back down the street. He took out his cell phone and typed in the confirmation code. The guns would be delivered anonymously as the recipients needed them. He was anxious to see the first ones.
Chad Hoskins wasted no time in claiming the young soldier. Not even six months after his first day at the office, Brenner had already been going out with him every weekend. Whenever he tried to engage in conversation with him, Chad shut that down with short simple answers. Impatient, and ready to have some fun with his new plaything, Hoskins proposed marriage knowing the little spy would say yes like the good soldier he was. At dinner to celebrate, he broke down the rules.
“Now,” Chad began, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “At the office you are just another body to punch the clock and crunch numbers. You bet not ever show up there in female form.”
Eric stopped eating, the spoon full of soup held midair.
“Okay,” he said.
“I mean it.’ Chad pointed a finger at him. “At home, I don’t ever want to see you like this. Got me?” Eric nodded. “Good. My father don’t like your kind and we don’t want to give him any reasons to blow your head off or have you dissected.”
Eric blanched and set his spoon down in the bowl. Chad smiled inwardly. It was the hard truth and he also didn’t want his father in on the entertainment. This one was his.
“How about next week?”
“What?” Eric seemed confused.
“The date.”
“Oh. Isn’t that too soon?”
“For who? I’m ready. What are you waiting for?”
“I just,” he stammered. “I just started working at the base and I’m not even old enough to drink yet.”
“You don’t need to drink to get married.” Chad pulled out his smart phone and dialed. “Hey. Set up a time and place for me to get married at next week. Yeah, me. Don’t worry about who, get it done and call me back with the info.”
He hung up and smiled at his prey. The veiled horror on the young man’s face spoke volumes. This was not part of the startup, figuring they would go this route in a year’s time. Chad had his own agenda. Eventually, he would beat it out of him who his employer was. Until then, he was going to make the pretty thing suffer.
The watcher cursed under his breath as he typed in a code to signal a rise in the timeline. There was a code for every scenario, the people in headquarters running every avenue. This was not a deal breaker though it did put them in a bind. The young plant was to establish some connections before marrying that psychopath. He tossed his phone on the table and continued to observe from his table in the balcony area. The guns being made for the young soldier were in the first round and he wondered if they could be rushed. Then he remembered who the young soldier was and laughed softly. He didn’t need a gun to take down Hoskins Jr. if necessary.
Even from his distance above them, he could see how the young soldier gripped the napkin in his lap while the other on the spoon. A vein rose to the surface in the back of his neck. Moments later, it receded, and the watcher breathed a sigh of relief that he was able to contain his anger. When he was younger, that wasn’t the case. Even battered and all bandaged up in the holding pen, the kid was vicious. Hoskins Jr. probably thought he had the upper hand. The fact was he had no idea who he was dealing with.
The new couple finished dinner and headed outside. Following them, the watcher noticed someone else tailing them. He caught a glimpse of him as they passed a well-lit building and knew who that man worked for; General Hoskins.
Looks like daddy doesn’t trust you, junior.
Terrors were Hoskins’ pride and joy, his own box of toys to destroy whenever he wanted. They were also expendable which meant he had to have real soldiers as backup. An elite crew loyal to him that had expanded well past the two hundred count. He had broken them up into smaller groups and sent them on missions in various third world countries plus the U.S. Their mission was to get rid of the advanced troops slotted for training with the aliens.
He wasn’t going to sit back and watch his people be turned into freaks for the sake of scientific discovery. Humans could defend themselves just as they were. For a long time, he had tried to iterate this to the world military leaders, yet they wouldn’t listen. They threw away their pride and now willing to let aliens run the show.
Then there was that buffoon, Perrara. Always getting in his way at every turn. He found out about the super soldiers being trained in the bunker and some of his group had encountered them during a few ambushes. When a plan was called for in the states, he let his son, now a Commander, handle the logistics.
Hoskins kept an eye on his son reason being his poor anger management. On more than one occasion, his son had nearly gotten a unit killed by not securing the communication channels. Luckily, he always sent a few Terrors to cover their ass. His agenda was going a bit rough even though he knew if he persevered victory was at the end of the tunnel. Any way necessary to get those damned aliens off their rock.
A report from one of his men he sent to tail his son came back with the news of him marrying one of those Bi-Genetic freaks and he about flipped his shit. The Hoskins bloodline was about to get tainted because he knew his son would be too stupid to sterilize that thing before screwing it. He had seen the footage of their wedding night and shook his head in disgust.
Just as he thought, his son barely got the thing on the bed and started pumping away, getting enthralled by its scent. He heard some gargled sex talk in the form of ‘so good’ and even a vulgar ‘amazing pussy’. Shameful shit like that made Hoskins want to rip his son’s Johnson off, it being no good anymore.
Then he thought about the little plant and knew his son was a target to get to him. Hoskins snorted. It wouldn’t be that easy. Plus, he was making some leeway in cutting off Perrara’s supply chains by snatching his men and torturing them until they spilled what they knew. He was sure his old pal didn’t like that at all.
**~**
Marzonetti found the girl pretty, Eldan begged to differ. She was five feet ten, all tits and ass with lemon blonde hair. Almost like an old-time pinup made flesh. And she was very much Italian. He had to find some kind of outlet since Eldan refused to let him touch him. He said he couldn’t have it both ways. Either he was a bodyguard or nothing. So of course, after months of unleashing his frustrations on her, she got pregnant and they had to deal with that.
Eldan found them a hide out on the outskirts of the city after the last one got blown up by his father’s crew. Four years of dodging them while establishing his name around town. The last year and a half was with a baby in tow. Whenever the organization summoned Eldan, he had to lay low. That was part of the stipulation for letting them go. One had to remain in the organization as they saw fit.
The hide out was very posh, having been the former home of a celebrity. His girl stretched out on the California king sized bed with their son while he did a quick check around the premises. Finding it clean, he sat down on the bed next to his new family and relaxed.
“Why does your father do this? It’s so sad.” She tickled the little one as she spoke.
“He’s selfish and greedy.”
She sighed and caressed his cheek.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Give him a remedy.”
“What do you mean?”
Marzonetti lay down and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t answer because he hadn’t figured it out yet himself. There was one nagging option.
Can I really do it?
A few days later, Eldan was back and he pulled him aside so his woman wouldn’t hear.
“We do it tomorrow. In broad daylight so they don’t expect it.”
Those silver eyes went blank and Marzonetti stepped back a bit. When they were kids, he could tell what the other was thinking. Now he couldn’t read anything from him. Life came back into them and he turned to him, nodding.
“Then we need a crew.”
“There’s about five who would stand behind me.”
“Does that include me?”
“No.”
“Good. I don’t want anyone in my way.” He looked over at the woman and child. “What about them?”
Marzonetti held up a bottle of liquid and gently shook it at eye level.
“Good for four hours.”
“You can’t give that to your baby, genius.”
“Then how do you suggest…”
Marzonetti watched his friend grab a rag, wet it with the liquid and tackle his woman on the bed. She struggled for a brief moment as he held the rag tight against her face. When she lay still, he reached for something out of his inside jacket pocket. An eyedropper with a dark liquid was in his hand. He squeezed its contents into the baby’s mouth. His son cried out, obviously from the taste, and then went still.
“Let’s go.”
Eldan got up from the bed and headed for the door. When Marzonetti didn’t follow, he turned towards him. He stood staring at his friend with a new kind of fear. He finally figured out what the organization had turned him into.
A Monster.
With a seven-man team, they arrived on the edge of the Marzonetti homestead. A few thugs were positioned around the front with the back undermanned. Splitting into three groups they circled around and got close enough to see inside the house. The one thing he hated about the way his father ran the family was the lackluster security. That was how he had been abducted. His crew went in without announcement and began the assault on the Marzonetti palace.
He beat down two men who came at him shooting by dodging the bullets. Ahead of him, Eldan appeared to leisurely walk as he tossed bodies on either side of him. They made a pathway to his father’s office where his loyal men protected him. All four were present when Marzonetti kicked open the door.
“I’m home,” he said. “Father.”
The men coming at him were easily dispatched by Eldan. Marzonetti grabbed the gun from one of the men as they fell to the floor and aimed. His father jumped from out of his seat, gun in hand and Marzonetti pulled the trigger, putting multiple holes in the man’s front side. His body twitched and twisted with each hit until he fell back into the chair a bloody mess of swiss cheese. As he turned to the door, he grabbed the fallen gun and shot his father’s men in the back of the head.
