Chapter 146

A full day’s work followed a long night of smashing custard, and despite being out of the job for several months, I was able to jump right back in with both feet and get down to it. They day went smoothly, and every job was finished without issue, aside from a five year old Camaro that needed more work than the customer was able to afford.

The shop was in similar shape to the way it was when I left, albeit messy around the area where dumbass Rutherford worked, which I was sure was no coincidence. My tool box was as I’d left it, though it’d been buried behind a bunch of shop equipment, including the apprentice’s service cart, which was covered with cheap and mostly broken tools.

Gord was surprisingly chipper throughout the day, aside from the slight awkwardness felt by both of us when I first arrived in the morning; after that, though, he and I exchanged a good bit of light-hearted banter—more than he usually had in the past, which to me meant that he was happy to have me back and that dealing with a hot-headed apprentice had been a bit of a burden for him.

The jokes I traded with the old man differed from the ones Jim and I told one another; Gord was an older and slightly classier fellow, unlike the more colourful mechanic that I shared the floor with, so I was reluctant to bring him up to speed on how shriveled my nuts were, nor did I comment on how my girlfriend’s sperm count was likely higher than mine after the previous night. Instead, ‘dad jokes’ were the order of the day, which was fine by me. According to the girls, I was an expert in that kind of humour anyway—whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Before I knew it, the day had drawn to an end, and at 5:30 it was time to close—as soon as the last customer came to pick his Camaro up. The young, bearded man arrived a few minutes after closing time, and when he stepped into the customer entrance and nodded at me and Gord, I recognized him immediately and was quick to let out a chuckle.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I said as I rounded the end of the counter to lean on it with my elbow.

“Oh,” he replied, slowing his pace while forcing a nervous smile once he recognised me. “Hey man, I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Once in a while, I guess,” I said, glancing over at Gord.

The young man ran his fingers through his spiky blue hair. “So… were you the one who worked on my car?”

I nodded. “I did, yeah.”

“So what’s the deal with it? I need a new exhaust system?”

Drawing a breath, I looked down at the counter in search of his work order. I picked it up when I found it and approached Flash, reading over the service notes to refresh my memory. “Not the whole system; just the front pipes. You have a four-twenty code stored in your engine computer —which is a catalyst efficiency code— and if you watch the data monitor, you can see the front and rear oh-two sensors are reading pretty much the same, meaning your catalytic converters aren’t doing their job. The wavelength for the rear sensors should be pretty flat, not jumping all over the place like the fronts.”

He folded his arms and shook his head. “Wait, so… all that money is just for the catalytic thingies?”

“Catalytic converters, yeah.”

He sighed, bringing one hand up to pick at his beard. “Why is it so expensive?”

“Well, they only sell it as a front pipe assembly, which is a lot of money,” I explained, holding my hands up to mimic the shape of the part I was describing. “Plus we quoted all four ‘oh-two’ sensors, just in case the old ones don’t come out; and if they do come out, then we’ll just take them of the bill. I prefer to quote worst-case so there’s no surprises.”

“Hmm.” Flash sighed again. “So there’s no other way to fix it?”

I shook my head.

He looked down at the floor and nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets rather sheepishly. “Well… that sucks. I, um… can’t really afford that right now, so…” He looked up at me again. “Will it be OK to drive it like that until I can get it fixed?”

I nodded. “Oh yeah. It’ll run fine, it’ll just fail emiss—“ I stopped suddenly, noticing something peculiar about the young man. I leaned closer, eyes narrowed, which prompted Flash to stiffen and lean back slightly.

“Is… something wrong?” he asked nervously.

“Is your… beard sparkling?” I asked, crinkling my nose.

“Oh…” He looked down at himself, cupping his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Uh, yeah, actually. My aunt got me a hipster kit for Christmas; it came with the hair gel and the plaid shirt n’ stuff… and uh…” —he paused to clear his throat— “and some... uh, beard glitter.”

I stared at him.

Flash cringed and looked away. “It’s the first time I’ve used it though.”

I nodded slowly. “Make sure it’s the last.”

He pursed his lips, eyes darting back and forth. “K.”

“Seriously,” I insisted. “You remind me of that sparkly vampire from that one movie; you know the one, where that grumpy fuck falls in love with the zombie?”

Flash nodded quickly. “I know the one.”

I looked down at the work order once more before continuing. “So anyway… yeah. You can drive it like that; your emissions will just be higher, that’s all.”

Flash scratched his temple, brows furrowed. “Um… don’t they sell, like, universal ones that you can just weld in? Would that be cheaper than buy that whole pipe thing?”

I rubbed my cheek, exhaling thoughtfully. “They do… but the labour cost goes up quite a bit cuz of all the extra work. And they generally don’t last as long, either.” I glanced at Gord and then back at Flash, holding a hand up. “But... I guess I can do a quote for that if you want. See if it’s any cheaper.”

“Sure. That’d be great, thanks,” he replied with a smile.

“Alright, just give us a minute,” I said, stepping behind the counter once again. As I took a seat to begin searching the computer for parts, I noticed a pair of dark figures outside, heading our way. “Who the fuck are these dicks?” I muttered, nodding at the door when Gord glanced at me.

“Aw shoot,” he grumbled. “I didn’t get a chance to lock the door yet.”

The men approached the door, which set off a chime when it was opened, and they stepped inside, removing their sunglasses and slipping them into the inside pockets of their suit jackets. The first man was older, with a graying buzzcut that matched his gray suit. His companion was noticeably younger, sporting a goatee and an all black suit, with a black shirt and a dark red tie.

“Afternoon, fellas.” The older gentleman stepped up to the counter and folded his hands on it, facing Gord. “We could use a little help, if you don’t mind,” he said as the younger man stood behind him, off to the right a bit.

Flash had moved aside when they entered, standing next to the chairs in the waiting area.

Gord gave them a polite smile. “I’m sorry, sir, but we just closed a few minutes ago.”

The older man waved a dismissive hand. “Oh no, we don’t need anything fixed; we’re actually wondering if you could help us find someone. Is anyone here familiar with a young fella named Rutherford?”

I glanced up from the computer at him, my interest piqued by this.

Gord’s brows rose. “Rutherford? Yeah, he was working here up until recently—hasn’t shown up for a week though. Why? You boys know him?”

The older man took a moment to look over his shoulder at the one in the black suit, who raised a brow in return. He turned back to face Gord, cocking his head inquisitively. “You say he stopped showing up to work; do you know what happened to him?”

Gord shook his head and shrugged. “Not unless you do.”

The gray man shook his head. Then he drew a breath and licked his lips, studying the countertop. “Tell me, when the boy worked here, did he ever say anything about where he worked before? He ever talk much about his past?”

Gord sighed deeply, rubbing his chin. “No… he was a pretty quiet guy—I mean... mostly. Bit of a temper on him, heh! But uh... yeah, he was here about six months or so and I never heard him say much about his previous employment.”

The man lifted his brows, locking eyes with Gord. “You sure about that, old man? The kid worked here for six months and you don’t know anything about him?”

The rise in hostility caught my attention, and I looked up from what I was doing once again to study the gray man. Something about this person’s demeanor was fairly unnerving.

Brows furrowed, Gord rubbed his chin thoughtfully, apparently unaware of the other man’s forcefulness. Then he nodded and raised a finger to shake it. “Actually, now that you mention it, I think I may have overheard him talking to Jim once about living in the big city; said he was doing deliveries or something like that?”

This earned a scowl form the gray-haired man. He glanced over his shoulder at his partner again before reaching inside his suit jacket, facing Gord. “Here, I got something I want to you to have a look at—tell me what you think.”

To everyone’s shock, aside from the man in the black suit, the gray man drew a silencer-equipped pistol and aimed it directly at my boss’ chest, the barrel standing only inches from his heart.

A gasp came from my right, and I faced that way to find Flash standing by the chairs in terror, mouth covered and eyes wide, his pupils like pinpoints. A quivery wheeze drew my attention back to the left; Gord was standing perfectly still and stiff as a board—though it wasn’t difficult to notice his hands shaking uncontrollably. Finally, my attention went back to the gray man, whose lip curled with distain as he aimed his gun with a steady hand—a good sign that this was not his first rodeo.

“What d’you think Hunter?” he asked, turning his head toward the younger man, but keeping his eyes on Gord. “Do these clowns know more than they’re letting on?”

“I dunno, Mr. Hopper.” The younger man folded his hands in front of himself. “Maybe they need a little more… persuation.”

Gord brought his hands up slightly. “N-n-now, boys… just take it easy. I already told you everything I know.” He shook his head. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Hopper cocked a brow. “I dunno, old timer. I’m having a hard time believing you, now why is that?”

Still in my seat, I kept my head down, but watched closely from under my brows as Gord struggled to find an answer. My eyes shifted onto Hopper next, and then onto the younger man, appraising the situation. Being behind the counter put me at a slight disadvantage; any action I chose to take would require extra time to move around it. Even Gord was over three feet from where I was sitting, which would give the assailant more than enough time to blow a hole in the old man’s heart before I could remove him from harm’s way.

And then there was the man in the black suit. Hunter, as the gray man called him. It would be naive to think he wasn’t armed as well, so even if I was somehow able to protect Gord, Hunter would have plenty of time to draw his weapon and take Flash out, or possibly Gord as well, depending on how I handled Hopper.

What I needed was for him to take the gun off of Gord.

“I… I-I really don’t know what you boys are getting at,” Gord stammered, his breathing elevated, which worried me. This would have been a stressful situation for anybody, and he was an old fellow, not in the best shape, admittedly; it was anybody’s guess if his heart could handle racing the way it surely was.

Hopper jerked the gun closer. “You said you overheard a conversation between Rutherford and someone named Jim!” he hollered. “What other conversations would they have had, HUH!? Did they talk a lot?”

Gord shook his head quickly, causing his jowls to wobble. “I have no idea, h-how would I know what they talk about?”

“THEY WORK FOR YOU, DON’T THEY!?” Hopper shouted, raising the gun to point it right between Gord’s eyes. “Where is this Jim, anyway!?”

The old man leaned back instinctually, his eyes crossing as they focused on the barrel right before them. “Uh, h-he’s uh…”

I clenched my jaw and looked down at the papers in front of me, trying to resist the urge to lunge at Hopper. Sure, I could tear both of these men apart—that wasn’t the issue. The issue was being able to do it without anyone else getting killed.

As I listened to the sound of my boss’ hyperventilating beside me, I looked into the computer monitor, noticing the faint reflection of my face behind the list of parts displayed on the screen. It was a stark reminder, sometimes, of how young I looked. Centuries, ages, eons later, this is how I looked, despite racking up lifetimes worth of experiences and wisdom; so young and fresh-faced—and deceptively naïve.

That’s when an idea hit me.

I was reminded of the ancient Chinese General Sun Tzu, who said: ‘Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.’ This, in my experience was one of the most effective strategies; I wish I could have taken credit for it myself, but even someone like me had to learn from the best. And now, 2500 years later, it was still being put to use.

“SPILL IT, OLD MAN!” Hopper shouted, shaking the gun with a tight fist.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Come on! Just drop him, Mr. Hopper. Drop ‘em all and let’s get outta here.”

Hopper sighed angrily. “We will,” he growled. “We can’t let them go after this, but we need to make sure there’s no one else that knows the kid’s story.”

The younger man sneered and pulled out his phone to check it.

This exchange was very telling; after many years in the criminal trade, it was quite clear what the gray man thought of his younger cohorts. This solidified my idea, as I could use it perfectly to my advantage. I just needed the right entrance…

Meanwhile, Hopper brought his focus back to Gord. “Don’t make me lose my patience and make and example, old timer; you’re not the only one here who can answer questions around here. NOW WHERE IS THIS JIM YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?”

I sat up in the chair, drawing a deep breath. “It’s me,” I said, trying my best to look scared, but also like I was putting on a brave face. “I’m Jim.”

Both Gord and Hopper shifted their eyes onto me, bemused by the confession. Hopper lowered the gun and stepped sideways to put himself before me, albeit slightly to my left, and he leaned on the counter with this forearms, laying the gun on its side while keeping a hand on it.

“Nice of you to finally speak up,” he said quietly, but condescendingly.

The distain in his eyes was abundant; I could tell exactly what he thought of me, which was perfect. I could only imagine what this asshole was going to be thinking in just a few moments, and now that Gord was out of danger and I had the advantage, it was open season to fuck with these two soon-to-be corpses.

One thing was sure: I was going to enjoy myself.

“So you’re Jim…”

I nodded timidly. “Yes, sir.”

He drew a long breath. “Alright. Tell me, Jim, were you and the kid good buddies, or what? Butt-buddies, maybe?”

I scowled slightly, avoiding eye contact to feign nervousness. “We… got along, I guess—not like that, though.”

Hopper snorted at his own joke and shook his head.

Before he could speak, however, I raised my hands to stop him. “Look… let me cut to the chase: Rutherford told me everything.”

The gray man gave pause at this, his face suddenly vacant.

“And…” I continued, “I know why you’re here, but… it’s OK. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone what he told me; he said it would be really dangerous for me to go around telling people about you.” I gave him a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me; you don’t have to do this. I’ll never tell anyone.”

After staring for a moment, Hopper furrowed his brows and looked over his shoulder at Hunter. “You believe this fucking punk?” he asked incredulously, to which the younger man stifled a laugh. After turning back to me, Hopper snorted and shook his head. “Well… you’re right about one thing, son…” He stood straight and held the gun up to study it before looking at me once more. “You won’t be telling anyone about us.”

And without hesitation, Hopper aimed the pistol at my chest and fired.

Pew!

I felt the round ping against my sternum, and then what followed were several seconds of awkward staring between Hopper and me—my face blank, his of fading satisfaction.

The room was silent. All eyes were on me as I looked down and fingered the fresh hole in the front of my shirt, and then looked up at Hopper with an intentionally confused look on my face.

“I’m sorry, uh… it’s been a while; am I supposed to die now?”

Oh man, what I wouldn’t give to have Sunset’s powers sometimes! It always killed me to wonder what must be going through people’s minds during situations like this.

After staring wide-eyed for a moment, Hopper gritted his teeth and raised the gun to aim it at my face.

Unfortunately for him, I was more alert than I appeared. Quick as lightning, my hands shot up; grabbing his forearm with my left, I took his wrist and bent it backward, snapping his arm like a twig. Crying out, Hopper looked down at the pair of jagged bones that poked through his sleeve as I quickly placed my finger over his and pulled the trigger, firing a round that grazed his other arm before sailing across the room toward Hunter.

The bullet hit the younger man’s shoulder with an audible smack just as he reached for his own weapon, causing him to spin around under the impact, his blood splattering on the wall behind him.

Still holding Hopper’s arm, I rose from the chair and leapt clear over his head, landing on the open floor behind him while bringing his arm with me, which I then used to yank him over my shoulder and fling him against the cinderblock wall next to the entrance.

He hit with a dull thud and dropped to the floor in a groaning heap, clutching his fractured and bleeding arm. Standing in the middle of the reception area with Hopper’s gun in my left hand, I turned my attention to the younger man next, who, despite being hunched over with a bleeding shoulder, had managed to draw his gun and straighten up to aim at me.

I raised my right hand to block the barrel from my view. He fired, his unsilenced weapon filling the room with a loud bang; the instantaneous impact of the round hitting my palm rattled through my arm, followed by the dull clunk of the bullet hitting the tile floor. I lowered my hand slowly, glaring intensely as he stared back, his face draining of its colour.

“Wanna try again?” I asked.

Hunter stared for a moment, his hand visibly shaking as he continued to hold the gun outstretched, his wide eyes darting around as he considered his options. With a quick huff, he glanced to his left at a petrified Flash Sentry, who stood with his hands atop his head. Then he turned the other way, eyeing the large bay window that stood next to the coffee machine, stacks of dusty old magazines on its sill; he knew I stood too close to the exit for him to make an escape, so in an act of desperation, he swung his weapon around and fired two shots through the window.

The glass shattered and fell noisily to the floor, leaving a jagged, but sizeable gap for him to escape through.

Hunter brought the gun back to me again, backing slowly towards the opening. “Stay back!” he ordered, teeth gritted, his arm shaking with adrenaline. By now, it must have dawned on him that I was also armed and could not be harmed by bullets, and that if wanted him dead, he would be. Obviously, he was reluctant to turn his back on me to make his way out; he’d convinced himself he would need some cover, or a distraction in order to buy himself the time to get away.

Like clockwork, his eyes shifted from me to Gord, who was still standing behind the counter, hands raised. Knowing what he was going to try, I readied my hand, and when he quickly raised his gun at the old man, I countered by raising Hopper’s gun. The Wild West was still fresh in my mind, despite being a century and a half ago, and I had my experiences there to thank for the ability to whip that gun up to fire a round through his wrist before he even had a chance to aim.

Hunter dropped his gun and wailed, gripping his wrist, which proved difficult with his other shoulder already wounded.

I raised my brows and gave my head a single shake. “Too slow, bud. What now?”

He stared helplessly for a moment as he dripped blood onto the floor, his jaw trembling in frustration and terror before he suddenly turned to make a break for it. After kicking a chair out of the way, he leapt through the glass, his toes breaking a few shards away from the bottom of the opening before landing outside, stumbling to his knees, unable to use his arms to balance or catch himself.

I stepped closer to the window to watch him run, his hands clutched to his midsection. I raised the gun and fired a shot to the left of his feet, making sure he could see the divot as the gravel flew into the air in front of him. Panicking, he changed course to the right and lead himself into the side yard, which wrapped around to the rear of the shop, where there was a modestly-sized yard filled with scrap cars surrounded by thick woods and a fence on the far side.

There was no escape. Hunter was falling into a trap.

I couldn’t let him go, of course; for one thing, I had questions of my own for him—though I had the impression that Hopper would be a better source of information, given his perceived rank—but not only that, I needed to follow him outside to see if there were any more members of this little posse.

After Hunter disappeared to right, passing the row of parked cars that would funnel him into the rear yard, I brought my attention back to Hopper, who was sitting up against the wall, clutching his arm while glowering at me, jaw clenched. The sight of this miserable turd caused a surge of fury to run through me, matched by a flow of adrenaline—an efflux of energy that rang through to my core. This feeling of power would happen whenever I found myself in situations like this, especially when bad folks attack innocent people without provocation.

Who did these people think they were, and who were they really? This became the question of the hour, and I intended to answer it before that hour was up.

It was time to act my age.

I spun around to face Flash, raising my index finger to coax him over. “Come here, boy.”

Flash seemed to snap out of the terrified daze he was in, only to re-freeze upon realising he’d been addressed. “Wha?” he breathed, staring with tiny pupils.

I tightened my lips and pointed to the floor next to me. “NOW.”

With a shallow gasp, Flash shuffled closer, stopping at my side to look down at Hopper, his face turning pale when he saw the shards of bone protruding from his arm.

“Here,” I said, holding the gun out to him. “I need you to keep an eye on this piece of shit while I go ‘Hunting.’”

He glanced down at the weapon. “Me!? I don’t know how to use a gun!”

I shook my head and huffed, grabbed his hand and slapped the pistol into his palm. “It’s easy. Look…“ I placed my fingers under his forearm and raised it, making Flash point the weapon at Hopper. “Just keep it on him, just like this. If he moves, shoot him, preferably in the leg or something. Safety’s off; you should be good to go. Stay close enough that you won’t miss, but don’t get so close that he can disarm you…” I paused to glance thoughtfully at Hopper. “Though I don’t think he’ll be able to move very quickly right now.” I faced Flash again, patting his shoulder. “OK. You got this?”

“No,” he replied while nodding ‘yes.’

I rolled my eyes impatiently. “Well do you or don’t you?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I do. Sorry,” he corrected, his eyelids fluttering with a mixture of embarrassment and resolve, both tainted by the stress of the situation.

“Good.” I turned to face Gord, who remained in the same spot, his hands still raised. “It’s OK. I’ve got this,” I said, to which he nodded quickly, his jowls jiggling.

He was clearly not relaxed.

Sighing, I raised my hand and gestured to the chair behind the counter. “Everything’s gonna be fine, just… sit down before you have a fuckin heart attack.”

As the old man shuffled over to sit, I bent down to pluck Hunter’s pistol from the floor and pulled the magazine out to see how many rounds were left. Only one was gone. “OK,” I said, facing the other two as I headed for the door, reloading the clip before opening the door part way. “Both of you keep an eye on him. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

They both nodded, and I stepped outside.

The sky was just staring to darken, preparing for another long, chilly night. Visibility would soon be diminished by the failing light, making battle difficult--for those who weren’t used to it, that is. The first order of business, however, was to protect Gord, Flash, and the hostage. If there were more of these men --which I had yet to ascertain-- they would be vulnerable in that front office, especially with the front window blown out.

After a quick glance at the building behind me, I turned to my left to find the heavy, corrugated steel walls of an old sea-can leaning against the old fence that ran along that side of the yard, which had been grown through by trees. Knowing this would make a perfect barrier, I pocketed Hunter’s gun and jogged over to the end of the slab, grabbed it with both hands and dragged it away from the fence.

The massive panel of steel left deep, curved ruts in the gravel as I swung it around toward the front of the building like a door, covering both the front door and the shattered window with an impenetrable metal shield. Regular men would not be able to move it out of the way, nor could they shoot through it. Luckily, being that it was closing time, the bay doors in the shop were locked as well, so no one would be able to sneak in that way to gain access to the office.

“A little protection for you, boys,” I said through the narrow opening between the wall and the steel slab. “Just hang tight; I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“O-O-OK…” Flash’s shaky whimper came back.

After a deep breath to clear my mind, I drew the pistol and turned away to head to the right, following the broken trail of blood drops while keep an eye on the parking lot and road, searching for any other members of their little gang. As I made my way along, I paid special attention to the left side of the lot, where an old RV that Gord bought years ago, but never used; it was a nuisance, especially now, for it blocked my view of the road coming from that direction.

Sure enough, though, after taking several steps toward the corner of the shop, beyond which Hunter had just cornered himself, a black luxury car came into view from behind the camper, parked on the shoulder on the far side of the road. I recognised the car immediately as the one from the surveillance video that showed Sunset being dumped into the harbour; the driver’s door was open and a man was standing with one leg on the ground, looking over the hood, probably curious, having noticed Hunter running around the corner of the shop.

Without hesitation, I raised the gun and fired as soon as he was in view, planting a bullet in the center of his forehead. He tumbled backwards to the gravel as I emptied the rest of the clip on the car, flattening its tires to prevent its escape--its windows, unsurprisingly, were bulletproof and did not shatter, but the shiny, black body work managed to earn a few decorative holes.

Through the tinted glass I could see two more figures moving about inside the car. Figuring they were looking in my direction, I made a point of visibly releasing the clip from the gun before throwing the weapon over my shoulder and onto the roof of the shop; killing one of them, spraying their car with bullets and then making it known that I was now unarmed was my way of luring them into my territory, where I would make quick work of their pointless little lives.

I raised my hands and gave double middle fingers to the car, which, seconds later, prompted one of the rear doors to open. Yet another suited man stepped out, aimed his weapon and fired in my direction. I chuckled as the round zipped past me and ricocheted off the wall behind me, and I turned --just as the other rear door opened-- to round the corner, following the dotted red trail left behind by Hunter.

Ha! Predictable thugs; so easy to provoke, so easy to trick. They think that because they have a gun and their opponent doesn’t that they have the advantage--that they cannot possibly lose. Just wait until they get a load of me!

The side yard was full of cars that’d been given up on, too expensive to fix for what they were worth, and so were left behind by their owners in search of something new. Gord always meant to take them in for scrap, but it simply never happened, and they sat here to finish out their days rotting in the weeds, some of them even being cannibalized for parts.

I slowed my pace when I reached the rear corner, stopping to peer around the corner; the cars, arranged in neat rows got progressively older the deeper one ventured, but they did just as good a job as the newer ones of providing plenty of places to hide--that is, if the dummy doing the hiding hadn’t left a massive, bloody hand print smudged across the deck lid of an old seventies-era Cadillac that sat a few feet from the corner.

I had to act fast with the other two approaching in angry pursuit of the man who shot their car up, and so I was forced to proceed without knowing where Hunter --my future bait-- was. Crouching down, I slinked between the cars, side-stepping dried weeds and stray body panels to maintain a silent stealth as I searched for my victim--who by now must surely have realised he was trapped.

The cars continued to get older as I slithered along, and the weeds between them got taller and taller. It was like I travelling back in time; the long, straight lines of the 1960’s styling gave way to the extravagant fins of the aviation-inspired fifties vehicles, which themselves soon transformed into the bulbous curves of the 1940’s era bodies. The fading day, along with the canopy of trees above cast an eerie glow across the yard, casting an alien greenness on the glass and steel corpses as their own colours faded into dull grays and rusty browns.

The deep sound of silence coming from the dense woods added to the claustrophobia-inducing space, and I felt myself becoming giddy at the thought of what must have been going though Hunter’s mind, to say nothing of the terror he would surely feel when I would eventually drop in on his position.

There were four rows of cars behind the shop, the first one running along the rear wall, with a four foot wide path separating each line. I was between the first and second row, roughly two thirds of the way to the tall fence at the far end when I heard the sound of rapid breathing in the next aisle.

Hunter was hiding in the center row, crouched down by the opposite end of the vehicle I was now beside. I stopped at the rear corner, and then bent down to have a peek under the car; sure enough, I found him sitting on the ground next to the driver’s front wheel.

I took a quick breath to ready myself, and, without further hesitation, leapt clear over the roof of the car, landing next to Hunter with a heavy thud when my feet hit the ground. He was cradling a phone in his bloody hands, struggling to send a message to get help. He yelped like a teenage girl who’d seen a spider when he felt the ground shake beneath him, dropping the phone between his feet as he looked up at me.

“Who ya talkin to, buddy?” I asked with a sadistic smile.

He shook his head, and then --to my surprise-- looked down at the phone, which was sitting on the edge of a clay brick, brought his foot up to stomp the phone with his heel, snapping it in half.

I watched the screen flicker into darkness from behind a web of cracked glass before look at Hunter again, my brow marked with distain. “I take it there was something on there you didn’t want me to see,” I growled, bending down to grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him to his feet. I put my face close to his, staring into those tiny pupils. “You, my boy, have just lost a lot of value.”

He cried out when I chucked him further down the aisle, landing in the weed-covered gravel on his wounded shoulder. As he laid there, wincing in pain, I glanced at the old Buick Roadmaster as I made my approach. Its wheels had sunk half a foot into the ground after decades of slumber, the tires rotted almost completely away, leaving the bare, rusted rim behind.

The sound of voices approaching from around the corner hastened my next move, and I reached out with my other hand and hooked my left hand under the edge of the fender, hoisting that corner of the car out of the dirt, much to Hunter’s shock. I reached down and grabbed his leg just below the knee next, pulling him closer to the car; after placing his ankle under the hovering wheel, I opened my left hand to release the wheel well from my hold.

The steel edge of the wheel drove his foot to the divot forged by years of sitting, pinning it in place. The young man threw his head back and screamed in agony as the weight of the old iron cut into his ankle, crushing the bones within.

I clapped my hands once, bending down to smile rather sadistically. “Yeah, atta boy! Make some noise! Make lots of noise!” I said, like a mother to a child before making my way around the car to hide in the third row from the building.

The issue with facing foes like this: they tended to keep a distance in favour of using their firearms to fight; they needed to be lured in, partially so I could get close enough to take them out, but also because it was fun. Eons worth of killing had diminished the thrill of victory for me, being that there were no stakes, so I had a tendency to play games and hone my trapping skills, to continue to challenge myself with new and more complicated tasks.

It made no difference at the end of it all, so long as none of them got away to inform their cohorts--which meant that I would have to take these guys down fast, while they still believed they had the upper hand and felt to need to use their phones to call for help.

Staying low, I scurried along the third aisle until I was about three car lengths closer to the entrance, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching from the around the corner.

“What is that?” a voice said, prompting me to drop next the rear end of an old Ford Falcon. A single figure rounded the corner and paused, listening to the screams of his teammate. “It’s Hunter!” he shouted suddenly as he made his way across the rows until he reached the center aisle, freezing in his tracks when he spotted the young man at the far end, seated next to a car. “Hey!” He yelled, charging forward to intercept his comrade.

Hunter, with a face contorted in pain, heard the other man’s voice and turned to see him approaching, and he quickly threw his hand out to stop him. “No! Silas, stop! Look out!”

By then, I had leaned back and place my feet on the rear fender of the Falcon, listening to the approaching footsteps. When I saw him sprint past, I shoved with both feet, launching the car across the path.

It collided with a vehicle on the other side with a loud crash, pinning Silas between them.

“AAAAAHH!” He threw his head back in pain, unsure of what just happened. He placed his hands on the deck lid of the Falcon, looking down at his legs, which were crushed between the two hunks of old metal. “What the fuck,” he grunted, scanning the area to try to figure out what happened.

I planted my feet on the ground to stand, pausing to scrape a handful of gravel up before slowly rising to my feet. Silas froze immediately when he saw me rise into view on the far side of the car, staring in shock when he suddenly realised what Hunter was trying to warn him about.

“Who are you?” he huffed, teeth gritted.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I replied, bringing the handful of gravel up to my chest. Silas watched helplessly as I wound up like a baseball pitcher, lifting one leg while twisting my arm back; I swung my fist through the air with a loud whoosh, flinging the stones at his face.

The spread whipped through the air with the force of a shotgun blast, splattering the top portion of Silas’ head all over the car behind him; his body snapped backward as his blood and chunks of his skull rained across the dusty glass and sheet metal.

Bearing witness to such violence forced Hunter into silence, making him temporarily forget about the pain that rang through his own body. “Holy shit…” he whispered shakily.

“Silas?” A second voice came from around the side of the building. “What was that?”

Figuring they must have split up to look for me, I leapt over the cars into the next row and sprinted for the corner of the building. He must have been searching the side yard when he heard the cars slam together, followed by his partner’s cries, and was prompted to come and find out what was happening.

Hunter, in a weak voice, tried to holler out a warning, but it was to no avail. “Enoch… stay away…” he panted. “Go… get help!”

Enoch couldn’t hear him, however; the footsteps of his running were all he could hear. He wasn’t the only one who could hear them, though. From my hiding spot just around the corner, I could hear his approach loud and clear, and so I waited patiently, like a spider waiting for a fly to get caught in its web.

When the last man emerged, running full tilt from behind the corner, I swung my right fist up to catch his chin with a mighty uppercut that sent him several feet into the air, flipping head-over foot. I brought my left foot up as he descended, catching him square in the back with a massive kick; a loud crack rang out when his spine snapped under the impact, and he was sent sailing over all four rows of cars like a ragdoll, eventually disappearing into the trees amidst the rustling of leaves and crackling of broken twigs, his landing signalled by a soft thud when his body hit the forest floor.

I made my way back to a frightened Hunter, who seemed to be in a state of shock. He began to squirm when he saw me approaching, trying to fight me off with flailing arms; a vain attempt, especially with the injuries he’d sustained already.

“Wha… who are you, man!? What do you want with us!?” he squawked, unable to keep me at bay as I grabbed him by the shoulders.

I paused, furrowing my brows at the question. “Me? You assholes came here, remember?”

He stared up at me, his jaw trembling. “W-what the fuck are you?”

I pursed my lips, glancing up at the canopy of leaves as I thought about it. “A veteran, I guess you could say.”

Hunter stared, his face contorted with pain and confusion as he could no-doubt see the discrepancy between my appearance and the lack of recent wars.

“Ah, you are probably wondering which war I fought in,” I said, nodding. Then I leaned closer, causing him to pull back slightly. “Pick one. I was in pretty much all of them. How about… the Civil War? Sure. Let’s go with that.” As soon as I said this, I yanked him upward, tearing his foot out from under the rusty, old rim.

He cried out in pain --with good cause as his foot hung from his leg by a few tendons and some skin-- but was silenced when I wrapped my hand around his throat and brought his face close to mine. “Now to answer your other question: what do I want with you? … Nothing. I don’t need you anymore. Bye!”

Then, with near comical aloofness, I hoisted Hunter into the air by his throat and spiked him into the gravel head-first, crushing his neck under his own weight. A muffled crunch echoed through the yard as his body flopped to rest amongst the iron artifacts, allowing me a short moment to reflect on my handiwork.

I brushed my hands together to dust them off, stepping over the fresh corpse to make my way back to the driveway. “Hm. I forgot how nasty I can be when I get riled up,” I muttered to myself as I passed the splattered brains of my previous victim, scattered all over the rear of a rusted out sixties-vintage Mercedes. “Oh well. They came here looking for trouble--and they found it.”

Out front, I first headed out to that black car of theirs, hoping that no passers-by had noticed the dead guy lying next to it. Luckily, this road was a quiet one, and nothing appeared to have been disturbed. After tossing the corpse in the back seat, I drove the car into the yard on two flat tires, parking it aside and out of sight from the road.

I made my way back to the office next, sliding the massive wall of steel aside before stepping into the office through the front door as if nothing had happened. Inside, Gord was now standing next to Flash, who was holding Hopper’s gun with both hands, shaking uncontrollably.

Hopper was still seated on the floor, clutching his arm and scowling defiantly at the three of us.

“How’s it going?” I asked Flash, approaching him slowly.

“Uh… g-good?” he replied, to which Gord rolled his eyes.

“Just relax, son; you did fine,” the old man grumbled.

“That’s right,” I agreed, glancing at Hopper again. “Everyone’s still alive--which is good, cuz I need this clown alive to pick his brain; I can’t help but be a little curious about why he came here, and who he works for.” I reached for the gun to slowly pluck it from Flash’s hands. “Here, I’ll take this.”

He realised the weapon slowly, his knuckles white as snow after unwittingly gripping it so tightly for so long. I turned to approach Hopper next, tucking the gun into my pants before crouching down in front of him. I paused for a moment to watch him, waiting to see if he would fold under the pressure.

He didn’t. This guy knew how to play the game at least somewhat, despite knowing he was hopelessly outmatched; maintaining image was important, however, no matter the situation. I could respect that--if he hadn’t just tried to attack an unsuspecting old man and his customer, that is.

I sighed, cocking my head. “Well?”

He continued to scowl.

I smacked my lips and then rolled my eyes, reaching into his pockets in search of a phone. “I don’t suppose you plan on telling me who you work for?”

He remained silent, even when I found a smartphone in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“Your boys are dead; … just thought you should know,” I muttered absentmindedly as I watched the screen light up and ask for a password--or a touch ID. I turned the phone so it faced Hopper. “Would you be so kind as to give me your password, please?”

No response.

“OK.” I shrugged nonchalantly, reaching down to grab his hand. “Maybe I’ll just take a finger then,” I said as I snapped his index finger and gave it a tug.

“AAAHH!” He jumped suddenly, a vein bulging in the center of his forehead as he winced in pain. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it! Here!”

I held the phone out for him to place his thumb on the sensor, unlocking it.

“Perfect,” I said, turning the screen toward me to open his contact list. I paused briefly to look over my shoulder at Gord and Flash. “Hopper and I are gonna take a step outside for a quick chat, but then we’ve got some work to do. There’s a pretty big mess to clean up; you guys better start cleaning that blood off the floor and sweeping that glass up, and when I’m done with him, I’ve got a car to hide and some bodies to dispose of before it gets dark.”

Gord looked a bit sour. “You don’t think we should call the police?”

I gestured to Hopper. “That’ll depend on what I learn from this idiot. Something tells me this isn’t the type of thing the police can handle.”

Gord sighed and then nodded. “Fair enough, tough guy.” He then waved Flash along, turning to head for the back room. “Come on, son. I’ll show you where the cleaning supplies are.”

Flash, who looked less interested in cleaning than he did in leaving, rolled his eyes and followed the old man into the back. Once they were gone, I reached down to grab Hopper by his tie and dragged him out the front door. After tossing him onto the gravel, I began scrolling through his phone.

“Well now… let’s see who you really are, Mr. Bunny Rabbit,” I muttered as I scanned the contact lists. At first, I saw little more than names: presumably friends, family members, et cetera, but it wasn’t long before I found a sub section, the title of which made my hair stand on end.

I looked over at him, incredulous. “You’re with The Ministry? You son of a--“ I stepped forward and swung my foot, catching him across the face and knocking him unconscious. Then I shook my head, looking back at the phone as I tapped to enter the list and began scanning the list. “Mother fucker,” I whispered to myself, reading the names aloud to myself. “Abel… Dixon… Enoch… Hunter… Juno… Silas…” I paused suddenly, my attention stolen by a contact that wasn’t a name, but a title. “The Reverend…”

I took a quick glance around the yard, considering the significance of this contact. Then I remembered something that Sunset had mentioned: The Ministry was led by a public figure--she just didn’t know who. Until now, we had nothing but assumptions to go on, but now… a minister made perfect sense, given the gang’s name. It was clever, I had to admit; a pastor would be far less suspicious than a politician, cop or even a well-known business owner. Who would guess he or she would be the leader of a massive and extremely violent drug ring?

Now equipped with this new information, I did the only thing I could think of: I pressed the ‘call’ button and put my phone to my ear. After only one ring, there was an answer.

“Hopper,” a gruff voice said on the other end. “What have you learned?”

A little smirk came across my face as I looked around the darkening yard, preparing my answer. “I’d say he learned to mind his fuckin business.”

Silence for a moment, followed by a gust of air blowing into the receiver. “Who is this? Where is Hopper?”

“He’s with me,” I said, glancing down at the unconscious suit. “But I’m afraid Silas, Hunter, Enoch and ‘Dude Number Four’ have expired.”

The reverend was quiet, so I continued.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on your boys, father; they shouldn’t have come here. Chasing your boy Rutherford was a mistake.”

The sound of a throat clearing could be heard on the other end. ”How do you know these things?”

“I know everything. We’ve been watching you, zeroing in, punishing you for your transgressions.”

”What transgressions?”

“Senseless violence. Corruption. Prostitution. Money laundering. It’s all there; we know all about it, and we know all about you.”

”Why don’t you come and get me then, instead of ambushing my men like a coward?”

“All in good time, father. You’ve had your fun, but you know the old saying: all good things come to an end.”

”Tsh! What are you, some kind of saviour of humanity? A disciple of justice?” His voice suddenly became louder and more menacing. ”Who are you to preach to a man of the cloth, my son? Huh!? What next, are you gonna quote scripture to me? Perhaps: ‘No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it?’”

“Hebrews twelve-eleven? Nah. How about: ‘You’ll know my worth when you praise my architecture of aggression.’”

”Impressive. But… I am not familiar with that particular verse; I do not believe it is from Christian teachings.”

“It’s from a song.”

“I see…”

“Listen, father,” I continued, pacing across the lot with the phone to my ear. “You can choose to continue with your business if you wish, but be aware of this: we’ll be watching you. The more transgressions we witness, the more punishment you will receive. I’d say it’s safe to say you’re never going to see your boy Hopper again after this unsolicited attack, and if you’d rather avoid another butchering like the one at your little hotel, then you’d better think long and hard about everything you do, and consider this: is it worth it?”

”Do NOT tell me how to run my dealings, my boy!? he growled. ”You don’t frighten me. I have resources. I have more POWER than you realise, and if you’re not careful you’ll end up waiting in line at the great gates in the sky--you AND your people. The only being I fear is the almighty God, for he is great and powerful.”

“That actually sounds like a stripper I know. Is god a stripper, father?”

”EVERYONE… who fears the Lord is blessed, who walks in his ways. He is a power higher than all who walk this Earth--even to upstarts like you who think their lowly beings are elevated. As I stated without equivocation, I fear the Lord, and the Lord alone.”

“That’s just cuz you haven’t met me. I used to bully your pussy god back in grade school.”

”AAARGH--“

The bellows anger coming from the phone’s speaker were halted when I ended the call. I took a moment to glance around the yard, its details obscuring in the failing light.

There was much work still to be done.

With a sigh, I glanced down at Hopper as I took my phone out to send a message.

ME: Sunny, meet me at Flutters house in two hours. Don’t be late.