***
As always, many, many thanks to Regina, who took time from her schedule to beta and got it back to me before she went off to London. And to the Puff, who also finished beta-ing before going off on vacation (poor me, deserted temporarily
Both are an enrichment to my written words.
Genesis
***
Two figures, half-concealed by darkness, raced along the filthy, cluttered alley way. The shorter of the two slipped in the garbage there and nearly went down. Quickly righting himself, he dashed to catch up with his companion. Both were young, barely in their twenties. Dressed well,
considering the part of town, in simple white shirts and dark slacks.
It hadn't always been this way. When his mother was alive. . .the taller
youth slowed his stride a moment. When his mother had been alive they
worked at a fashionable resort. (Correction, they slaved at a fashionable
resort.) She had been a chambermaid. And, as soon as he'd turned
fourteen, he had been hired as a cabana/bus boy. The desire to do
'legitimate' work had lasted until he'd received his first paycheck (if that
was what you could call it), and until the older woman in Cabana "C" had
slipped him a note. . .
She had just wanted company. Someone to talk to, to hold her, to make
her feel 'special.' In exchane, she'd bought him clothes, kept him feed,
given him monetary tokens of her esteem. Their relationship had lasted
the entire summer. After she went home, there were others. Some as nice,
some not so nice. But he had learned to play the game, to survive. And his
efforts helped his family stay shelter and well fed. The rest was a small
price to pay. . . He'd kept the 'busboy' job to hide what he really did from
his mother and grandfather. If they suspected the truth, they never said
anything.
Then his grandfather had the stroke, and the little bit of money he'd saved
disappeared.
A year later, he'd almost recovered financially, then his mother had fallen
ill. The doctors and hospital had taken all he had: the clothes, the jewelry,
his money. And the resort had fired him because visiting her at the hospital
caused him to miss too much time from work.
Without the glamor of the resort behind him, he was forced to ply his
'trade' on the streets outside the posh establishment.
"Who found him, Miguel?" the youth in the lead snarled in clipped Spanish
as soon as the second man caught up to him.
Puffing from the exertion, Miguel could barely gasp out the
answer,"Tonio."
"No, Chucho," the second young man assured him quickly, afraid he'd
receive the brunt of his companion's anger. He'd seen it flare before and
there was no place to run. "It was his 'john'."
Chucho turned to Miguel. "You only said he was hurt. What else did they
do?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild.
"Tonio!" Chucho turned angry eyes to Miguel. "I told you," he hissed
menacingly before turning back to Rafael. "Come," he said, his voice
gentle as he lifted his partner to a sitting position. "We will go to the
hospital."
"How will we get there, Mateo? It is too far," the injured man reasoned.
"You cannot carry me."
"Not interested." Stone turned back towards the door. "We have nothing
more to say to each other."
"He put the bujarron in the morgue."
"¡Materé para eso!" Julio screamed, trying to scramble to his feet.
"¿Te importa?" Stone asked, sedately.
"What problem? I don't have a problem," Viper replied cheekily. "Do you
have a problem?"
Chucho digested that statement with a sullen expression and replied with
a furious, "I. . .am . . .bored! Can't you understand that? You have the
freedom to come and go as you please. I'm trapped here! My entire life is
this base, training and you can't understand why I'm less than cordial?" he
growled. "I grow weary of your endless trials and sick of waiting."
Angrily, he advanced on Stone. "Where's the action you promised when I
enlisted?" he demanded. "I want to go to the States. See the world.
Experience Life!"
"Liar!" Chucho shouted. "Six men are gone from the barracks in just as
many months. Why are you keeping me here?"
Mateo smiled, a sly look slipping over his features as he slowly lowered
himself to his knees in front of the startled officer. "Yes, something small,"
he muttered as he smoothed his hand over the front of Stone's pants.
Gripping the tag of the zipper between his thumb and forefinger, Mateo
slowly began gliding it downward. "Maybe I can help you think of
something."
~~~
Down below them Viper's memories also held him in their grip. The last
DI had warned him, another uncontrolled fit of temper and he was out of
the squad. Because of his violent tendencies, one would spar with him, so
he'd chose to take his aggressions out on the gym's punching bag.
Liars, the lot of them. The young man's disillusionment rolled over his skin
in waves as the sweat poured from his body. Fists, clenched in anger,
viciously pounded into the padded surface. Frustration lending power to
the savage blows. Every blow punctuating a despondent train of thought:
They had lied to him since he was thirteen years old. Used him, tried to
possess him, discarded him.
Everything he'd loved had been cruelly taken from him: his mother, his
grandfather, Rafael.
¡Puto! That's what he was. The rich gringos confirmed it each time he'd
serviced them. Now, a different set of gringos were trying to convince him
otherwise. Why couldn't they leave him alone?
He should have died in that prison. He had accepted that fate. Then Stone
had appeared and he'd dared to hope again. Believed the lies again.
¡Tonto! Fool! He would never learn.
***
"Got a minute?"
Brown watched the young man's moves. "Code name Viper?"
Brown glanced at Stone, he wasn't buying it. "The Estate can't use a man
who's not a player, Stone." Then returned his gaze to the man beneath
them. "Tell you what. I need a two-man team. I already have one from
another recruiter."
Nearly three years since that night in the Mexican prison. Three years and
a lot of miles. Mateo "Chucho" Sifuentes, half-starving puto from the
back alleys of Acapulco, had all but disappeared. Stone had changed his
identification papers to read "Patrick Edward Choate," the name on his
original certificate of birth.
"First of all, you can't fuck your way into, or out of, anything in my
section." He watched for a reaction.
"I know about your little 'arrangement' with Stone. You whore for me
when and where I tell you to, but you keep it out of the team. What you do
on your own time, with anyone else is your business, but your ass'll get you
no favors here. Understood."
At exactly 0100 hours, Viper climbed aboard the camouflaged Huey. A
stranger with a cold expression and a buzz cut sat in one seat. Team
Leader sat in the other.
Viper took it from him without answering. Opening it, he quickly scanned
the contents. "This is a simple elim?" he asked, surprised to have been
included on the assignment.
"I have the target in sight," the operative whispered into the mic. He lay
in the tall grass, watching the elderly man sitting on his balcony fifty yards
away.
"It'll get the job done," Hunter replied nastily, "backup." Then laughed.
"The fuck I will," the angry young man grumbled.
Suddenly, the sight on Hunter's rifle shattered into a million tiny,
daggerlike crystal shards. He cursed fiercely, dropping the rifle, clutching
at his bloody face.
Viper snorted. He had to be, what, ten, fifteen years younger? "I know I
can," he said, cockily.
Brown smiled. "Good. You better hope you're as good as you think you
are, 'cuz, if you lose, I'm going to put you face down over my desk and
show you just how little a boy you are."
Viper knew Brown had the advantage of size and weight, but he had youth
and agility on his side. Smiling to himself, he lunged. Faking the older man
out with his left, he swung his right with all the strength and anger he had
inside him.
In a blurr of motion, the older man danced gracefully into the left.
Catching Viper in mid-swing, he clamped both hands around his wrist.
Using the younger man's moment against him.
"What kind of training did the Marines give you? Didn't Stone tell you you
telegraph your moves?" Brown said calmly from someplace behind him.
He began undoing his captive's pants. "Probably not, he was too busy
ramming his dick in you, or was it the other way around?" He slid them
and the underwear down to the man's knees.
"He was probably too busy to teach you any manners, either."
Brown paused. "Better for whom?"
"Why didn't Hunter take a head shot?"
His Prime's stiff posture radiated anger. Hunter shifted nervously on the
bed. Anger and Brown were not a good combination. "Is something
wrong?" he asked tentatively.
Ignoring the flash of guilt, Hunter asked as innocently as he could manage,
"Why are you so angry?"
'Was that jealousy he heard in Hunter's voice?' thought Brown. "How did
you get hurt?"
"Through your sight?"
"Just because her great-grandfather was a monster, was no reason to
think this child was expendable." Brown waited. "You thought you'd
gotten rid of the log tapes, didn't you? This wasn't the first time, Hunter."
"It's just the first time you were clumsy enough to get caught." He
regarded his protégé calmly. "Who helped you? Wait," Brown said,
holding up his hand to stop Hunter's answer, "never mind. It'd just be
another lie."
Sullenly, the young operative responded with, "The Estate trained me to
lie." He paused. "To kill."
"What's one less brat in the world," spat Hunter as he swept the folder and
the hated picture from the bed.
"Then," he motioned towards the duffel bag with his hands, "this is about
that little scene in my office before."
The young man's entire form seemed to crumble. "I don't want to stay
here," he whispered sadly, confusion showing starkly on his face.
Brown laughed again, reached back and lightly swatted the younger man's
behind. Viper yelped.
by BCW33
June 2, 1998
The first youth made a harsh, angry sound. "If Tonio found him, where is
he? Why didn't he come find me himself? Why send you? More likely, he's
the cause and he's hiding."
They rounded a corner.
"Why didn't you take him to the hospital, then?"
"No money, man," he said, cringing at how inadequate the excuse
sounded, now.
"You checked? His pockets were empty? Did they rob him, too? I gave
Rafael money when he left this morning. And after working all day there
should have been at least enough to take him to a hospital."
They found the mortally injured youth in the filth of the street, lying in a
pool of his own blood. Thin, almost gaunt, his clothes lay scattered around
him; his groin covered with his shirt to hide his nakedness.
"Mateo," came the pain-filled whisper from the darkness.
Question immediately forgotten, the larger youth quickly dropped to his
knees by his fallen friend. "Rafael." He gently brushed the dirt and blood
from his forehead. "Who did this to you, my heart?"
Rafael coughed violently, his breath wheezing through him. "Pepe," he
said, struggling for air and to sit up. "Pepe and his brother." He began
coughing again. This time, bright blood mingled with the moisture already
on his lips.
Rafael resisted, shaking his head. "I am afraid," he said faintly. "Hold
me, Mateo," he whimpered, curling his arms around the larger youth.
"We must go, love," Mateo whispered lovingly into the ear pressed
against his lips.
"I can try," he said, his deep voice breaking as he gathered Rafael in his
arms.
"No, Teo! Please."
At the cry of pain, he stopped. Chucho turned blazing eyes on his
companion. "Miguel. Go get help. Now!"
The smaller man wasted no time in sprinting away.
The larger youth watched him go until the feeble tug on his shirt hem
turned his attention back to Rafael. He leaned in closer to make out the
hushed words.
"Tell me. . .what we will do when we get enough money."
Chucho sighed heavily as the flow of blood from the wound in Rafael's
back soaked through his shirt sleeve. Trying to ignore the growing pool of
blood, he moved closer, settling his friend more securely in his arms,
nestling Rafael's head against his chest. "We will go to America," he said
tenderly.
"America," Rafael breathed reverently. "Where we won't have to do this
any more."
"No, Rafael. No more. We will get real jobs and an apartment--"
"In California," he said faintly. "Together."
Mateo stroked the blood-matted hair beneath his chin delicately. "Yes,
love. Together. You and I."
Rafael's voice sounded very faint now. "You and I. Never apart.
Always."
Chucho fought hard to keep the tremor from his voice. "Yes, love.
Always."
~~~~~~
Stone leaned against the rough, grey wall, watching the small crowd of
men milling around the outside grounds.
"This is all you have?" he asked the fat man seated at the desk.
"This is not a department store, señor," the man snapped, pulling the shirt
of his uniform down to cover the roll of fat around his middle.
"Most of these men are useless to me." Stone released the blinds and
turned back into the room. "I can see they're addicts, the lot of them."
The desk guard snorted. "You can fix anything. Great American military.
Fix them." The officer shook his head. "We had a deal."
"Fixed or no, you can't trust drug addicts in my line of work. Our deal was
for able bodies, not trash," Stone snapped. "Maybe I need to take my
business elsewhere." He started for the door. "It isn't like you have a
monopoly on prisoners."
"Wait! Señor! No need to lose your temper."
"You're wasting my time, Julio."
The fat man hastily rose to his feet. "No, no, Señor," he said quickly. "I
have something. . .I saved the best for last."
"This one is a murderer."
"What, some drunken husband cut up his wife and she died?"
"No. This one's a puto. Street has it he is good."
"I thought you said he was a murderer?"
"Sí, señor. Multiple. Brutal. In your style," he said slyly.
"What did he do, slice a few of his tricks?"
"No. He killed a pimp and his brother. Then tracked down and beat
another man, badly. He may not walk again."
"I'm listening. Was the pimp his?"
Julio shook his head. "No. This one did not have a pimp. He was, how
you say it, freelance."
"So why'd he kill the pimp?"
"To avenge his lover."
"Sorry, Julio. I need muscle, not a pretty cunt."
"He has it! This is no flower. He is skinny, but he is tall. If he is fed better,
he will be what you want."
"I've fallen for your hype before, Julio."
"No! This one has potential." The officer grabbed keys from a hook by the
door. "Come. I will show you."
"Why isn't he in the general population?" Stone asked, following Julio
down a hallway.
The fat man kept quiet until they'd reached the end of the long corridor.
"We had a little trouble earlier," he said at last.
"Trouble?" Stone asked, not liking the sound of the admission. "What kind
of trouble?"
"Some of the men, took a. . .liking to him."
"So? Isn't it what you said he did for a living?"
"He objected," the obese officer said as they stopped in front of a large
metal door.
That statement peaked Stone's interest. "Oh? What happened?"
Julio slowly inserted the key in the lock. "Two of them are in the
infirmary," he said, twisting it.
"How many were there?"
The great metal door groaned in protest as he pulled it open. "Three."
"What happened to the other one?"
The fierce, glaring light from the hallway fell across the figure crouched in
a corner.
Julio had been telling the truth when he'd called the young man skinny.
Thin, almost to starvation, his bones stood out in stark relief to his skin.
Grimy and covered with dried blood, his skin was a mass of dark and
darkening bruises. The knuckles of both hands were scraped nearly to the
bone.
A brutal life had taken what could've been the face of an angel and made it
harder, stronger. Lashes too long to belong to a man framed warm,
chocolate-brown eyes and softened the harsh planes of a face too gaunt.
The full mouth was kept from attaining its true sensuousness by the tense
line it was forced into.
"¿Quiénes gilipollo? ¿O Pederastia?" the young man sneered nastily.
"¡Tienes una lengüeta civil en tu boca, puto!" Julio snarled, as he drew
back his foot to kick the young man.
Before the steel toe connected with it's intended target, Stone saw a blur of
color, and Julio found himself sprawled face down on the floor.
The deep voice answered with deadly calm. "¡Puedes intentarlo, cerdo!
Entonces puedes morir!"
It wasn't so much what he said, as the tone and look that caught Stone's
eye. "That's enough." He smiled, keeping his eyes on the young man.
"He'll do." He told Julio. Then to the young man, he said, "Get up, you're
coming with me."
"¿Adonde?" he asked, rising warily. "Where?" he repeated in heavily
accented English.
"Fuera de aquí."
The prisoner sat stunned for a moment before asking, "¿Quieres acostarte
con migo?"
"No," Stone lied with a straight face. He'd wanted this angry young man
very, very much from the moment he'd laid eyes on him. "I'm going to give
you a job." And planned to have him, soon.
"¿Por qué?" he asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Stone remained calm. "Why not?"
"¿Dijo porqué estoy aquí?" the youth demanded, his gaze darting to the
fallen guard.
"Yes, he told me you were a murderer."
"¿Y todavía deseas darme un trabajo?"
"Yes."
The chocolate-colored eyes widened with astonishment. "¿Hacer qué?" he
asked, incredulously.
Distrustful brown eyes searched deeply into grey ones as the prisoner
slowly shook his head. "Vamos," he said to Stone. Then, stopped at the
door and turned back to the guard and spit. The moisture landing square
in the guard's face. "¡Besa mi culo, Julio! Pero no puedes ahora, o se
puedes? Se que los deas." And he walked out the door, his laughter
following.
~~~~~~
Stone leaned against the frame of the one-way glass and watched the lone
man working out on the bag below. A year of basic training. Six months of
special training. It had been a struggle for the DIs to work with him.
Mateo's anger proved hard to focus and, once unleashed, even harder to
quench. At the end of the first half of the second year, Stone met with his
superior. They told Stone they could see the liability. The ultimatum,
'Tame him or terminate him'.
Stone cornered the young man in the empty barracks later that day.
"What's the problem?" he demanded.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. One of my star recruits is acting like a
jackass and won't tell me why."
"Some men train here years before they're ready to leave."
Fear skittered up Stone's spine. Was he that obvious? "They were
transferred."
"Where? Why?"
"To other units. This one became too full."
Chucho could see the lie on the older man's face. "Am I a prisoner?"
"No."
"Then, I want to be transferred, too! Anything is better than this sitting
and waiting!"
Suddenly, Stone seized Mateo by the shoulders and pulled him against his
chest, crushing their mouths together in a bruising kiss.
Mateo struggled against the punishing grip, trying to dislodge himself, his
jaw tightly closed against Stone's attempt to invade his mouth with his
tongue.
Suddenly, Stone pulled back just enough to stare into angry eyes. "You
don't want it?"
A mulish expressed had settled on the young man's features. "I want an
assignment."
Stone shook his head before trying to recapture the pouting mouth. "It's
too soon."
"Not if you say so," Mateo contradicted him, twisting away.
"You're not ready." The older man tried again.
And Viper evaded his efforts again. "It can be something small."
"You'll get yourself killed."
So engrossed in his memories, he failed to hear the other man enter the
room.
The deep voice sounded behind Stone causing him to jump. He turned
towards the source.
"Brown," he said, his voice giving away nothing of how he felt about a
visit from this particular man. He dreaded this, but had known this day
would come. Brown always kept his eye on the new inductees. If they
showed any potential at all, he snatched them up.
The man in question looked down at the action on the floor below them.
"This the recruit?"
Stone nodded. Leave it to Brown to cut right to the chase. "I've had him
onboard for two years now."
Stone nodded again.
The other man's lips turned up into a tight smile. "You pick that name?"
"No. Actually, one of the lab assistants gave it to him because of the
special snake venom needle darts they'd worked up for him."
"Needle darts?"
"Stronger than tranqs. He uses them in nonlethal situations."
Brown frowned down at the young man trying to rip apart the punching
bag beneath them. "He have a problem with killing?" he asked, tersely.
Stone shook his head emphatically. "Not at all."
The black man seemed to digest that bit of information. "I heard he was a
crack shot," he said, at last.
"Top of his class," he answered, not without some pride.
Then, the quiet response, "Team Leader tells me he's a cowboy."
Stone frowned. Damn TL and Brown both! "He and Team Leader don't
always see eye-to-eye."
"I heard your man questions orders."
Chancing a glance over at the other man, he answered evasively, "Not all
of them."
Fear squeezed at his heart. "What about one of your people?"
Brown shook his head. "I'm looking for fresh meat on this one. Think of it
as a trial run. A test before the real thing."
"Why him? Viper's already been in the field and passed each time
successfully."
"I need someone good on this one." Brown waited. "Is there a problem?"
Stone glanced up at the tall, black man. He wasn't fooled for a second. All
this talk was smoke screen. "This isn't a loan! And you aren't testing him!
You don't plan on giving him back. Do you?"
Brown's smile turned cold. "Not if he's as good as his file says he is."
~~~~~~
The young man seated in the padded chair stared at the reflection on the
polished surface of the enormous mahogany desk hardly recognizing the
face that stared back at him.
The young man's lips curled in distaste. He hated that name, and
everything it stood for. But the Estate had more use for a 'gringo' named
Choate, than an 'ese' named Sifuentes. But the terrified niño was still
there, still fearful that someone would come and take this all away. Or
that he would open his eyes and be back in the streets of Mexico, selling his
body to survive.
Sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
Sometimes, reaching for Rafael before he remembered. Sometimes,
finding his fingers curl around someone else. Sometimes, pretending that
someone was his lost love. That he himself was someone else. . .he played
the game so well, until. . .sometimes, he didn't even know who he was
anymore.
"You have two seconds to get your ass out of my chair."
The young man turned to the sound of the voice. A tall man with a coffee
'n cream colored complexion stood in the doorway.
"Who are you?" he asked, rising to his feet and stepping away.
"You can call me Brown." Walking over to the desk, he sat in the vacated
chair and regarded the youth over steepled fingers.
He assessed Brown just as thoroughly. "Where's Stone?" he demanded.
"You won't be answering to Stone anymore, Viper."
Letting contempt show in his voice, he asked, "I'll be answering to you?"
Brown unlaced his fingers. "You'll find things are different here in my
section," he said, warningly.
"Different?"
Viper gave nothing away.
Still no emotion showed on Viper's face.
"I expect an answer."
"Clear," Viper said, softly.
"Good. I have a job for you." Brown waited. Nothing. "You need to be
ready at 0100. Standard op. You'll be briefed on the plane."
Viper stared at Brown a moment longer before turning on his heel and
stalking towards the door.
It closed behind him with a resounding 'bang'.
~~~
"Viper," he acknowledged warily.
The young man threw himself into the seat opposite the two men.
"We aren't having trouble this assignment, right?" Team Leader asked,
holding out the folder.
"Yes," Team Leader answered quietly.
"Then why do you need two of us?" the other passenger asked, his voice as
callous as the expression on his face.
"One of you is backup."
Viper looked up from reading the file. "Which one?"
"The one that doesn't get the job done." Team Leader replied smugly
looking from one man to the other.
"That would be you," the other man said to Viper, smiling a ruthless smile.
"Just stay out of my way."
"Viper," Team Leader said, his eyes darting back and forth between the
two men, "meet your teammate. Hunter."
~~~
"Hold position, Hunter," Tell snapped into the console. "Viper?"
Suddenly, a small girl, maybe four or five, toddled into Hunter's line of
fire.
"Hold position. Hold position. Innocent," Viper's voice came over the
comm.
The old man picked the child up and sat her on his lap. Bending his head
close to hers, they seemed to be sharing a quiet secret.
"I can still take the old man out," Hunter snarled, lining up the shot.
"Not without killing the little girl!" Viper clarified urgently.
"Team Leader!" Viper implored, raising his rifle to track the target
through the scope. "I can do it without risking the child."
"Hunter, stand down. Give Viper the shot."
At almost the same moment, on the balcony, the old man slowly slumped
forward as if falling asleep, the little girl sliding safely from his arms to
stand in front of him.
"What's happened? What's going on?" Tell barked into the comm's
console. "Report."
"Mission accomplished, base," Viper's voice drifted softly over the mic.
"Coming in."
~~~
Once again, Viper found himself in the tastefully decorated office of the
leader of Section Three.
"What happened out there, Viper?" Brown asked quietly.
"You read my report. . ." he began.
"Tell me what happened."
Viper greeted that demand with a stony silence.
"Don't try my patience, little boy," the head of Section Three growled, the
expression on his face hard, "I have one of my best agents down, medical
says from your bullet."
"A shot went wild."
Brown slammed his hand down hard on the desk. "Bullshit! I've seen your
test scores! You can take the wings off a fly at 120 feet. Don't tell me your
shot went wild. You hit what you were aiming at, didn't you?"
Viper's lips drew into a tight, thin line and a mulish expression settled on
his face.
"Didn't Hunter tell you he had the shot?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you fire?" Brown waited, their eyes locked on one another.
"Talk to me, little boy."
The piercing gaze causing a cold chill pass down his spine. "I am not a
little boy!" Viper snapped finally, unable to maintain eye contact.
"Oh?" Brown said slowly, as he cocked his head to one side. "Do you want
me to show you just how much of a little boy you are?" He rose to his feet.
The agent frowned, now they were back in territory he understood. "You
want to fight me?"
Brown noted the changes in the young operative's face. "You think you
can take me?"
Viper's eyes grew wide with shock, and he thought nothing would shock
him again. "Are you serious?"
Brown walked around the desk and gave him a 'come and get me' gesture
with both hands. "I'll even let you go first."
Suddenly, Viper felt himself flying through the air to land face down across
the cool, polished surface of Brown's desk. "Never underestimate your
opponent, little boy!" he sneered.
Struggling in an attempt to free himself, Viper felt the larger man's hand
clamp his neck at the base of his skull and squeeze. Suddenly, his arms and
legs went numb.
Viper felt the big man lean to the side. Heard a drawer open, and Brown
rummaging inside. He began to sweat. What was he reaching for?
"Let me up," he snarled, twisting his body against the iron grip.
Brown squeezed harder. "If Hunter told you he had the shot. Why did you
fire?"
Viper struggled weakly. "Let me up." He waited. "What are you going to
do now? Fuck me?"
"I told you what I would do," Brown said calmly, stepping to one side.
Then Viper felt what seemed like flames ignite along his asscheeks. He grit
his teeth against the pain.
"Last time. Why did you fire?" Brown waited a moment, then swung
again. After another brief pause, swung the paddle once more.
This time the young man hissed.
The hard wood fell again causing him to jerk.
"Let me up!" he demanded, afraid in earnest now.
And again the unwieldy wood whistled through the air.
"I've been hurt by better men than you," the young man blustered, trying to
conceal his tormentuous emotions.
This time, the blow almost made him cry out, followed quickly by another,
and another and another, until Viper's breath caught in his throat.
"Stop!"
The answer to that demand lifted the young man to his toes.
"There has to be something in the manual against this!"
This one lifted him even higher.
Viper blinked. Embarrassed to be in this position. Embarrassed to be near
tears. Embarrassed that in his cockiness, he'd underestimated this man. A
mistake he vowed never to make again.
"Let me up and we'll talk," he panted, bargaining desperately.
This blow threatened to empty his bladder and made him gasp aloud with
pain. He felt his feet being kicked farther apart. Brown drew his arm back
further.
The next two blows drove his groin into the edge of the desk and caused
him to cry out, "I had the better shot."
Viper turned flat, dark eyes up at the older man. "Better for the child in his
arms," he hissed.
His leader blinked and released him as if he burned. "What child?"
Sensation rushed back to Viper's extremities and he struggled to
straighten. "The target had his granddaughter, or great-grand daughter
in his arms. From one angle, her body blocked our target."
"Why wasn't this in the report?"
"I don't know."
Fighting the tide of sentiments threatening to overwhelm him. Anger at
the highhanded treatment from his Primary and at himself. . .And at
himself for what? So deep was his confusion, he almost missed Brown's
next question.
"They were too close together."
"Did Team Leader know?"
Viper shrugged one shoulder as he leaned down and gingerly pulled his
clothing back up over his hips. He barely managed not to hiss in pain.
"I won't have my operatives disobeying orders."
"Your orders were to eliminate the target, not kill innocents."
"Why didn't he defer to you, then?"
Brown and Viper glared at one another a long moment. The
corresponding flush that crept across the young man's face caused him to
look away first.
"You probably already know the answer to that question," Viper said,
bitterly, suddenly feeling very much the 'little boy.'
Brown's lips thinned into a tight line. "Get out."
~~~~~~
Hunter always hated the sterile whiteness of the Estates' medical facilities.
They made him feel caged. He wanted out of here.
Suddenly, the door opened and Brown walked in.
The Hunter smiled. "I thought you'd forgotten me."
"How could I forget my star?" Brown said sarcastically.
"Yes," Brown snarled. "You're familiar with Estate procedures, aren't
you?"
Hunter hesitated, before answering warily, "Yes."
"And our policy on Innocents?"
Apprehension tingled along the young man's nerves. "Innocents?"
"Yes."
He frowned, deciding to feign ignorance. "I don't understand."
"Isn't it the Estate's policy to protect Innocents whenever possible?"
Now the man in the bed's expression began to cloud. "Yes."
"Then, when did you become exempt?"
Hunter blinked. "What?"
"Did you think, because I'd taken an 'interest' in you, that gave you special
dispensation?"
"Tell me again, what happened on the mission?"
"I told you," he said sullenly avoiding the older man's eyes.
"Tell me again." Brown came nearer to the bed.
Hunter thought quickly about his situation, and made his decision. "I had
the shot, free and clear. Your new 'golden boy' jumped the gun."
"My sight exploded."
"Then Viper took the shot?"
"He shot me first!"
"Yes."
"If that were true, wouldn't you be dead now?"
The young operative looked at him with hate-filled eyes. "Why are you
asking me all these questions?"
"You say there was no Innocent?"
A sullen expression settled on Hunter's face. "I didn't see one," he
growled, peevishly.
"You didn't see the child there, right in front of you?"
"There was no child."
"LIAR!" Brown slammed the folder he carried in his left hand down on the
bed. "Vivian. Her name is Vivian. She's four years old. She'll see her fifth
birthday now, no thanks to you."
Hunter stared down at the picture of the little girl's smiling face. A picture
of her on the target's lap, their heads pressed close together. Her showing
the old man something in her cupped hands.
The operative started to say something, but the agent stopped him.
"The Estate trained you to eliminate the target. You don't blow up the
entire building just to kill one man."
"Why not," he muttered, under his breath. "He'd still be just as dead."
The look on Brown's face clearly showed he'd heard.
"I had the shot," Hunter said aloud, stubbornly.
"And Viper could complete the mission without harming an Innocent."
Brown turned and walked briskly from the room, closing the door behind
him.
~~~
Viper energetically stuffed his belongings into the battered carryall,
mumbling angrily under his breath.
"What are you doing?"
He jumped and spun towards the voice.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he said, furious at having been startled
by this man.
Brown took a menacing step forward and Viper, despite his resolve of not
showing any weakness, moved slightly back out of the way.
"Packing," he answered, grudgingly.
The older man stopped his approach and asked,"Why?"
"I put in for a transfer." Viper moved around the bed so he could resume
packing and keep an eye on Brown.
"And, you think it'll go through?"
"Why wouldn't it?"
"Because it needs approval of the Primary."
Viper stopped packing and watched him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"And that would be?"
"Me."
"You'd stop it? Why?" Viper babbled, the helpless, childlike feelings coming
over him again. "You can't do that."
The older man laughed a sharp bark of laughter. "Little boy, you've got a
lot to learn."
"What do you want from me?" Viper sighed heavily, not wanting to admit
defeat, but feeling trapped.
"What do you want from yourself?" the tone of the question was almost
soothing.
"I want to get away from here."
"No, you don't. That would be quitting. And you're no quitter."
"You don't know that! You don't know anything about me!"
"I know everything about you, little boy."
What little control Viper had remaining, suddenly snapped. "Stop calling
me that!"
"Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable or because it makes you too
comfortable?"
"Eres un hombre loco!" the young man exclaimed, backing away.
Brown chuckled. "Did I hit a nerve?"
"Stay away from me," Viper warned, menacingly.
"Why?" Brown asked, still highly amused at the operative's antics.
"I didn't play those games when I turned tricks. I'm not going to start
now."
"And what games are those?"
Viper blushed hotly. "S&M."
"Stay back, I said."
"So you think it was all some sort of sex game?"
"I want to go."
Brown shook his head. "You need to stop thinking of yourself as only a
sexual creature, Patrick. You are much more than that."
"My name is Chucho."
"Chucho was a whore from the streets of Mexico."
"Then that's who I am."
"No, little boy. That might be who you thought you were, but it's not who
you are."
"And you know who I am?"
"Yes. And I intend to introduce you, starting now."
Brown reached out, Viper jumping away from his grasp. "Fortunately.
That isn't your decision. I'm going to make you a better man, in spite of
yourself."
Viper fought the urge to fling the bag and its contents across the room. "A
better man, in whose image? Yours?"
Brown smiled, seeing the conflict clearly on the young man's face. Proud
he was winning the fight against his rising tantrum. "No. Yours."
"You can't keep me here against my will."
"But, Chucho Sifuentes had no will, did he?"
Viper's face flushed. "Yes."
"No. He went with whoever paid him, didn't he?"
"I chose--"
"To give your body away for money? To kill?"
"I survived. And those men deserved to die."
"And the man you crippled?"
"He lied to me. He helped the other two kill Rafael. He led me to his body.
Silently laughed at me while I held him dying. He should be happy he still
has his life." Viper took a deep breath. "I want to go."
"Go where? Back to the streets?"
"Away from here--"
Brown watched him intensely for a long time. "Stay a year."
"What?"
"Stay at the Estate for another year."
"Why?"
"So I can introduce you to Patrick Choate."
Horrified that he'd even begin considering the offer, Viper said irritably,
"What if I don't want to meet him."
Brown shook his head. Transparent little boy, he thought, slightly amused.
"Stay a year," he repeated gently, as if soothing a startled colt. "If you
don't like him, then you're free to leave."
Knowing he didn't have any place to go, but loathed to give in without
some type of fight, Viper said, "How can I trust you?"
This caused Brown to laugh aloud. "Because I'm your best shot."
"That's supposed to comfort me?" The young man frowned.
"Yes," Brown said with a completely straight face.
The quiet silence stretched into minutes, as Viper weighed his options. "No
more S&M games?" He rubbed absently at his bottom.
Brown's smile crept back. "Disciplinary action is totally up to you."
Viper's frown deepened.
"Follow the rules, behave yourself," Brown clarified for him, "and, no
more sore backside."
"Well--"
"Just say, yes, little boy, and I'll make you an ice pack for your butt."
Viper colored deep red. "Fine," he growled at last.
"Was that a yes?"
Viper glared at him and the laughter Brown had tried to keep contained,
burst free.
"Come on, little boy." He threw an arm around the slender shoulders.
"Do you have to call me that?" Viper asked, allowing himself to be led
towards the door.