Smooth Talkin'
#14 of One Shots
X-Ecutioner style
Smooth Talkin'
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The Land Rover was working on its 200,000th mile if the odometer was to be believed. But the dings and the scratches crisscrossing the exterior suggested a very different story. Out of curiosity, he had examined the VIN and the serial numbers on a handful of parts in the engine.
The VIN was a fake, of course. The parts came from all corners of the world; Columbia, Mexico, Iran, Japan, even a minuscule shop in Islamabad, Pakistan.
Islamabad... he had never been there. He had had an opportunity once, for a posting at the airport. It would have been a roughly two or three year job and he'd have been paid handsomely for it.
He had turned it down, of course, citing the gaping hole it would have blown in his personal life. That was when he had a personal life. When he had a life.
But he had a new life now. And it had started approximately eight hours ago at the airport in Amman, Jordan. A whole new chapter in his life... however brief it might be.
He glanced in the trunk. Tarp draped over telltale metal shapes brought a grim expression to his face.
It wasn't a smile. No more smiles anymore. Not now, not when he was reaching the end of the road... literally, the end of the road. Ahead was loose gravel and sand, and the burning hulks of wrecked vehicles. Some hundreds of yards into the dessert were the remnants of a crashed jet fighter... an F-15 by the look of it, an American F-15.
For a moment, he considered the man he had once known... he had flown such a jet, right here in fact, not all that long ago...
So it couldn't be him. Couldn't be. He'd have rotated home by now. And besides, he had a wife and kid--and besides--
He had his phone in his hand and began to dial a number without realizing it. But he remembered himself and the chapter he was writing before he placed the call. He began to turn off his phone--then he flung it into the dessert.
Don't need no smiles no more. Don't need no phones no more. It was time.
He stopped the Land Rover. Got out and opened the back and looked at his wares. Forget the guns for now, he had something else, something more important to do. That little wooden case in the spare tire... he opened it, and in that moment, the last smile left him.
He took his belt off. Wrapped it around his arm tight until the veins were visible. Then he dipped a syringe into that little dusty bottle, marked with a crude drawing of a man with a mustache and sunglasses and a hat.
Officially this was Syria. Legally it was Iraq. Practically, it was as American as Times Square itself. They didn't wear helmets inside the wire; they didn't need to, not with Apaches buzzing overhead and AC-130s and Reapers never far away.
So instead, they wore their berets inside the wire. Indoors and outdoors both, with their beards grown long; the Hell with the reg, this was an austere environment and the mission came first and the mission demanded that they integrate with local allies.
He was no exception, all six foot three, two hundred fifty pounds of him. His heritage was obvious before he opened his mouth--he was a mountain lion, all American, from the great fuckin' state of Montana. Even in a room of other special operators, he was a beast.
And yet this little thing... this skinny, almost scrawny little tiger didn't flinch around him. All he asked for, when he entered, was a coffee and a whiskey and a toothbrush for afterward. And he received it, because practically, this was America... and his passport said that he was an American.
The lion glowered over him for a moment. Left the cell, slammed the door shut and turned his gaze on a Marine, a fit little Doberman with an M-4 still at the ready.
"So tell me, one more time... what happened?"
"We were preparing for the raid just like we'd planned, sir," the Marine said. "Air support was en route and we had the Kurds prepping artillery. And then, out of nowhere, a battle started. We couldn't tell what was going on--gunfire was going every which way.
"We thought it was fratricide, for a moment. Or someone cracking under the pressure. But then we got word from intel--it was an ambush. Someone was in the camp, shooting at everything that moved.
"I was trying to figure out what to do--should I go in? Should I stick to the plan? Should I get you on comms? And that was when intel told me that he wasn't just shooting combatants. He was shooting... literally, at everything that moved."
The Marine swallowed.
"I knew what was at stake with the mission, and the men, and... so I told the Kurds to fire off a few rounds of artillery, then hold. Once that happened, we moved in as quickly and as aggressively as we could. Mopped up the last of the fighters, but by the time we got to him, it was too late. He had already stormed through the hospital, and the mosque, and the school and--"
"And what did he do then?" the lion barked.
"He looked up at us... he smiled... and said hello. He didn't have any weapons--he was out of ammo, I think--so we didn't shoot him. He asked us what we were doing here, we didn't say anything of course... so he just nodded and said that we must be there for the same reason that he was. Well, in that case, he said, that makes us friends. 'So let's be friends and just say that I ran away, huh? Otherwise, it's going to be a lot of paperwork, and a lot of explaining for...' you, sir. He mentioned you, by name."
"What?"
The lion turned from the Marine. Stormed back into the cell and grabbed the tiger by his lapels, hauling him to his feet. But the tiger just smiled, stroked curly dark hair out of his eyes.
"You fuck--who the Hell are you? How did you know my name?"
The tiger arched a brow. Locked eyes with the lion for a moment.
"We met before," he said. "Six weeks in Arkansas, right after you promoted. I'm kind of offended that you don't remember me... then again, I could be... quiet, back then."
The lion stared. Then he released the tiger, memories flooding back to him.
"No way," he said. "You're...? But then how--why--what are you doing here? Why did you do--that?"
The tiger shrugged. "Life was getting... off the rails. Too easy, too quiet. I had to do something different... something that no one on the planet gets to do. And I didn't want to do anything wrong, or too wrong anyway, so... I made the appropriate plans, bought the appropriate items with the appropriate Bitcoins and booked a one-way ticket to Jordan. Amman was gorgeous, by the way; if you get a chance, I highly recommend--"
"Shut up!" the lion snarled. "Just... shut up. And don't tell me you didn't do anything wrong--the children! Even the little children!"
The tiger was silent for a moment. His smile faltered a little.
"It wasn't too wrong," he said softly. "And frankly, it was... invigorating. And besides, now you don't have to worry about the legacy of terror. You should be thanking me for doing your job for you--and doing it better, too."
"Shut up," the lion said. "I don't believe this. You can't be him--what happened to the man I used to know? Yeah, we weren't close, but you were a cool guy--and so obsessed with doing the right thing. That was what made you so God-damned timid and self-doubting. You always wanted to be sure that you were doing the right thing, that you weren't hurting anybody--what happened?"
"I got sick of thinking but not acting," the tiger said simply. "Every day became torture... and one day, I couldn't take it anymore. So, fuck right and wrong, I figured. I can't let life pass me by because I'm not willing to take any risks. Even moral risks."
"So that's what you're doing. Taking moral risks."
The tiger nodded.
"Who are you?" the lion said. "Are you really him?"
"I'm Alex," the tiger said simply.
"Bullshit. Tell me your real name," the lion snarled. "At least have the guts to be real about who you are."
But the tiger just smiled, a little sadly.
"In a way, friend... Alex is more real than I ever was. What I was... was just a façade, a veneer, hiding... absolutely nothing."
The lion gnashed his teeth. "Still a smooth talker, I see. I always hated that about you, you know."
The tiger nodded. Shrugged. Then gave the lion the strangest smile, one that he would remember for the rest of his life.
"Fuck the world."