Family Ch. 02

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Home is where you are surrounded by your loved ones.
11.2k words
4.63
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Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/23/2016
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aka_Mike
aka_Mike
501 Followers

Author's Note: Time has a funny way of changing people, of closing wounds, of healing past injuries. As D becomes more involved in the family business, we will get to see a change in him that takes him away from the young man that he was in the previous chapters of his story. What he becomes is something that will shape him for the rest of his life. A lot of questions that were asked in the first chapters of Long Road will begin to be answered in this series, as you can see this one will be a bit longer than my previous stories.

I know that there will be some readers that will think that I have changed the dynamic of the character, but I assure you that this is yet another chapter in his story, the final product that we see in brief flash forwards is still the same. This is just part of the journey that takes D to that destination. Hang in there, enjoy the ride, and continue to comment, rate, and vote.

Editors, this is a work of...fiction. Do, move along, there is nothing to see here.

Much love,

aka_Mike

...

"What is going on? Edith asked as both she and Francisco entered the office, there was concern in their eyes. "Francisco told me you seemed off after your father left."

"Here," I said as I handed Francisco the letter I had received from my father, "read it so that Edith can hear its contents."

"CIA?" He said as he looked at the Seal embedded in the top right corner of the envelope, "Sir, what is this..."

"Just read the fucking letter," Edith said, "we can play 20 questions later."

"My friend," Francisco began to read aloud, "it seems that our paths are crossing again. It has been some years since our little adventure in Fallujah, I know you haven't forgotten. It's not easy to bleed beside a man and not call him a brother. So as a brother, I ask that you meet me. A mutual friend is concerned about you and the reasons why you decided to return to your family.

You often told me about that little restaurant that you were so fond of; tomorrow night will be a great time to have dinner there. 1900. Alone. Your friend, Elvis."

"Who is this friend?" Edith spoke; she grabbed my arm with concern and led me to the couch I had recently brought into the office. Francisco re-read the letter to himself, carefully returned it into the envelope, and moved to grab two glasses which he filled with the liquid. He gave one to Edith which she offered me, the second one he took for himself. In one single gulp, he downed the contents of the glass.

"He is a man I served with while in the military," I began, "after we completed jump school, we went our separate ways. He went to Special Forces Selection, I went to Ranger School. Didn't see him for years after."

"Well, it looks like you deployed with him," Edith said, "you two served in Fallujah together, that's what he said in that letter."

"After I got out," I continued, "you know I took a job as a contractor. That's when I ran into him, my company had been hired by the CIA to help carry out some jobs. By that time, he too had left the military and had become a spook. He had heard about my reputation, shit I had been approached by many intelligence groups; I thought he was just another recruiter when I first saw him."

"What was the mission that he is talking about?" Francisco poured himself another drink, "he made sure he referenced it in the letter for a reason."

"We had this rule," I said, "if we ever need to send each other correspondence, we would reference two events that only the other person would know about. Fallujah was one; the restaurant was the other one. Except it was not a restaurant, but he often called it that."

"What place was it?" Edith asked.

"I often told him about my parent's tradition of making me cook for them every time I would visit." I handed Francisco the empty glass which he promptly refilled, "he would call that 'D's Kitchen,' and said it must be my favorite restaurant."

"What do you think he wants?" Edith asked in a panic.

"I'll send some men out to your parent's home, sir" Francisco said at the same time.

"No need," I said, "he gave my father his word that there would be no issues. I suspect he has some of his agents around their property, keeping them safe from whatever he thinks will come out of this. I told you both about Officer Sandoval, I think he is the 'mutual friend' that he is referring to in his letter."

"I thought you said he was talking to the FBI?" Francisco took a cigarette out and offered me one which I greedily took.

"CIA. FBI. What the fuck do they want?" Edith was again throwing a tantrum, her innocence and simplicity brought a smile to my face.

"Let me tell you about the job in Fallujah," I replied, "it'll clear up some questions I'm sure."

...

It had not been my first time in Fallujah, both as a soldier and as a contractor, but of all the times that I had the misfortune of visiting, this particular time would stick with me for years. Once, a woman had made a comment that I scream in my sleep, this is the reason why I do. The things we had to do that day will forever haunt me, and would forever change the way I looked at my friend. The mission was simple, roll into town, find the terrorist cells hiding, engage in some unconventional firefights, and call it a day. We would be supporting two Marine Divisions, three Army companies, along various Special Operation groups. On paper, we had an overwhelming force. The reality was far from it.

By this point, the majority of the troops were completely exhausted; weeks of back to back engagements had seriously depleted their combat strength. We were trying to take over this damned alley of death for the third time; it often took us longer to regain the city than it did to lose it again. I was beginning to wonder if all the blood we had spilled in those damned streets was even worth the effort. Some of my fellow contractors and soldiers wondered aloud the reasons why we simply didn't just nuke the fuck out of the place and get it over with. We were set to attack in the middle of the night; our technological superiority gave us a great advantage during that time of day. The temperatures dropped greatly and made moving about with all the gear almost tolerable.

By the time that the operation began we realized that the commanders had become far too complacent, far too cocky, and had greatly underestimated the local forces. They were more than ready for us; their clever ambush neatly split our forces into two. Chaos took hold as commanders shouted orders and allowed fear to overwhelm them. Left and right, men fell to a hail of bullets that rained from all around, large fires were lit and made our night vision technology obsolete. The attacks were intended to maim and wound, to slow our progress. It was highly successful. By the time the sun rose, the streets were covered in American blood and gore. Brass and spent ammunition covered the copper smell; the shushed tones of the call of prayer gave us some respite.

An American retreat, there is nothing more painful to watch. The records of course paint a far different picture, history is written not by who's right, but rather by who is left. Three days after that massacre, a second invasion was planned, this time it would be spearheaded by both Special Operations and Contractors. This time, our approach was vastly different. Again, we struck at night, this time immediately after the last call to prayer of the day. We led the attack, irritating things like Rules of Engagement did not apply to us. We brought destruction with us. Men and boys were rounded up and arrested, women were left defenseless. We neared what we suspected was the base of operations for this latest group of freedom fighters, already the main structure was under fire. Within minutes, we stormed and secured the bodies within the structure and had moved them to our own structures. No casualties this time.

We kept the prisoners tied up, their eyes and ears covered completely to give them a sense of confusion. I knew exactly what they felt, I had received similar treatment in one of the many training requirements that I had to undergo. It gave you a sense that you were completely alone, that you were truly isolated from everyone around you. The truth was that there was a second person in the same position as you, not three feet away. Sometimes, headphones were placed in the prisoner's ears and white noise was pumped into their ears, this often drove the listener temporarily insane. Imagine standing next to a loud speaker that is lasting music, you know that feeling you get in your chest from the bass coming out of those speakers? Imagine that same feeling but with no additional noise to give it credit. No solace. Nothing that will help you ease the discomfort.

"I'll be damned," the man in the battle fatigues said as he walked into the room. I had been the lucky one to be selected to guard the prisoners while the spooks were gathered to interrogate them. "If it ain't my good buddy, D, how the hell have you been man?"

"Holy shit," I said once I recognized the man, "Elvis has entered the building."

"The King is back," he replied, hugging me tightly. It had been years since I had seen this man, "so you're the Bearded Devil I've heard so much about?"

"Yeah," I said, that name had been given to me by the locals when I took my first tour as a contractor. I never carried any identification, anything that could give away my name to anyone. Instead, I was given that loving name by the group that had at one point offered 3 million dollars for my head. "I didn't know you became a spook, what's up with that?"

"Hey man," he replied, "its good money. After the second contract, I got approached by the NSA and the CIA. They made a better pitch, man. Hung the boots and here I am. How long you been in theatre?"

"This time, going on 9 months," I replied, "I've only made it back home once or twice."

"Yeah? Damn, we are definitely gonna have to do some catching up, man. But I got some business to take care off at the moment. You can step outside, D. This won't take long."

He was right, it didn't. Within minutes, we were on our way to whatever location he had managed to extract from whatever poor fool he had selected. I was not entirely sure what had gone on inside that room, but Elvis did not change his tone of voice or his cheerful nature. The house that we were to go into had been cleared already, but the intel that we had received let us know that we had missed something. As Elvis moved ahead of us, he drew his rifle before knocking. As the door was held slightly ajar, Elvis moved to kick it open, the old woman that had held the door crashed into the floor. Elvis immediately gave commands in the native tongue while the rest of us took our positions, immediately securing the bodies inside.

Elvis had grabbed a small boy and forced him to move a piece of carpet that hid the trapdoor under the house. Elvis gave the boy commands to open it, the women in the room were desperately trying to get the child back into their midst. One of Elvis' men used the butt of his weapon to silence the mother of the child, Elvis continued to shout orders. Hesitantly, the child moved to open the door, he briefly glanced over to where his mother lay in the ground. As soon as the trapdoor was opened, a shot tore through the boy's head. From under the house, screams and gunfire began to penetrate through the floor. Without much concern, Elvis withdrew two grenades from his vest, removed the primary pin, and tossed them through the trapdoor. A silence followed soon after the explosions.

"Come on, D," he looked back at me as he once again lifted the door, "let's see what's left of those bastards." Jumping feet first into the area, I could smell the burn flesh. I followed him soon after, not even my wildest nightmares could prepare me for the sight that met me as I turned around. Walls were covered in blood and intestines; there were pieces of what once used to be men. The charred remains of multiple faces were permanently burnt into the walls and into my memory. "It's a good thing we still got a few of them back in the compound," Elvis said, almost in a cheerful tone, "not much left of them to tell here."

From the corner of my eye I saw it, the gun fired three rounds in complete panic and absolutely no control. One of the rounds found Elvis' arm, the second and third rounds went flying wildly about us. Instinctively, I fired at the blurry body behind the pistol, my well controlled three round burst found the center of the face. It was a boy, no older than 12 years old that I had just killed.

"Mother fucker," Elvis screamed, drawing his rifle and took aim at the boy's body. He must have emptied an entire magazine into it, by the time he was done, there was nothing left to identify that this boy once had a head. "You got your aidbag nearby, D?"

"Yeah," I replied, "it's in the convoy vehicle. I am not the medic in this op."

"Cool, bandage me up, will you?" Elvis moved up the stairs, "boys, burn this fucking place to the ground." They did. We made it to the vehicle, as I cleaned the wound and bandaged it, Elvis looked at me with amusement.

"What?" I continued my work as I asked him.

"You are good," he replied, "far better than the book worms made you out to be. You didn't lose your cool, and you saved my bacon. You didn't even hesitate, bro, just leveled your rifle and bang, bang, bang."

"Yeah," I replied, "sucks about the boy."

"Sucks to be him," he replied, "wait, which one are you talking about?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well," he replied as he moved his arm, content at the work I had done in his arm, "the boy that opened the trap door knew that they would fire immediately once the door was opened. So did the women. The one inside was already a man, you saw him, cold blooded. He tried to fucking kill me. There are no innocent people here, D, you know that."

"That's true," I replied, more to end the conversation than for any other reason. "Where are you going next?"

"You guys are coming with us," he replied with a grin, "that was just the tip of the iceberg from the intel I got from one dude. Imagine how much we'll get from the rest of the fuckers in the compound." I shuddered to think of more scenes like this one. That was exactly what we got.

Day after day, five of us contractors followed the CIA operators from town to town. Each town held a bigger piece of value than the previous one, the villagers learned to fear the dust rising from our tires as we drove. I was no stranger to the brutality of war, nor was it strange for me to take a life with complete callousness and detachment. But even I felt like I was drowning in a sea of blood by the time we had returned to my headquarters.

"If you ever need a job," Elvis said as I got out of his vehicle, "look me up. I've seen your file, D, you and I would be completely unstoppable. Think about it."

"I will." I shook his hand and watched him as he drove away. I did think about the job, in fact I was prepared to take it. I spoke to my boss about it, it was my time with Elvis that truly cemented my reputation, after this job my employer felt that I needed the break which would lead me to meeting Dr. Cargill.

...

"Jesus Christ," Edith said, "no wonder you drink so god damned much."

"Of all the people that considered me dangerous," I replied, "Elvis was the one man I've ever met that I considered dangerous. He is like me in more ways than I care to admit. But he has nothing to lose, absolutely nothing."

"What do you want to do about him, boss?" Francisco looked at me, he fully understood the story I had just shared with them.

"Have dinner," I replied, "see what it is that he has to say to me."

"I'll let the boys know to keep an eye out," Francisco said, "do you need me to do anything?"

"Just remain calm," I replied, "go set Jessica up with whatever she needs. Also, find Cousin Armando a good position within the family."

"Did he give you the information that you needed?" Edith said.

"No," I replied, "but he did point me in the right direction, though. That was far more than anyone else did."

"I'll take care of it, sir," Francisco said, "if there is nothing else, I will retire for the night. Ma'am." Francisco left, in the room it was just Edith and myself.

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" Edith took her place on my lap as if it was the most natural place for her to be, I opened my arms in order to grab her and hold on to her. This was as natural to me as breathing. There was comfort in that perfume, there was comfort in her voice, there was comfort in her mere presence.

"For right now, just you," I answered, "we still have some numbers to run, don't we?"

"You know, she said, "I really care for you. You are the most wonderful man that I have ever met, for many years I have always thought highly of you. But I know you, I know your sense of honor, and I don't think you'll go through with it."

"All my life," I replied, "I have always tried to do the right thing. Always been the good guy. You know what its gotten me?" I pointed at the empty glass in my hand, Edith stood up and moved toward the bottle. She opened it and poured the drink into the glass, "this is all its gotten me. I'm a borderline alcoholic, I smoke like a chimney, I have nightmares every night, I cannot build lasting relationships. I am damaged, and the best thing that I have ever been able to do is put holes in people and plug holes into others. At the end of the night, I am alone. I am an island."

"You are alone because you want to be alone," she replied, "I am here for you."

For how long, I thought. My mind continued its silent wording of these words, even as I just looked on the woman, this goddess standing before me. But I've heard that line so many times, I don't know what to make of it. I heard it from my wife before she got pregnant by another man. I heard it from a woman that ended up being married to my psychiatrist. How many times can I hear it before I stop believing it? I looked at Edith, "I don't want anything more than just you."

"Will it bother you that I am technically married?"

"I don't really care," I replied as I drank the contents of the glass, "I don't have time to care." I grabbed her and pulled her violently to me, dropping the glass onto the floor. Immediately, her mouth opened and her tongue dove into my mouth. Our tongues began that dance of centuries, a wrestling match that drew moans from both of our beings. My hands remained clasped behind her back, pulling her more toward me as if I was trying to make us both into a single being. Her hands reached behind me, pulling me into her in much the same way.

"Not here," she whispered, "come." She pulled away, and without releasing my hand she guided me to the room she had been occupying since I had brought her here. The room itself was a direct contrast to the rest of the house, while the house was cold and almost unwelcoming to any joy, this room was not. The smell of flowers and incense embraced me as the door was opened, I could almost imagine the chirping of birds in the air, the feel of the breeze caressing my face. It was truly as if I was stepping into another realm, Edith truly was a goddess in her little piece of paradise. "One of my hobbies is in interior design," she giggled as I stood in the doorway, dumbstruck by the beauty of this room.

"You did a great job," I replied as I followed Edith into the room, the door silently shut behind us. "This place is like a little slice of heaven..." her lips interrupted me. Almost as if a match had been lit, our passion reignited in a fury of kisses and caresses. I reached for Edith' dress and violently ripped it open, a gasp escaped from her lips when the fabric tore. The tattered dress rested throughout the room's floor, before me she stood in her glorious beauty, white low-cut bra and matching thong adorned her.

aka_Mike
aka_Mike
501 Followers