Salvation

The snow-flakes flurry slowly around your cardboard box. True winter’s cold wraps around your fingers like a snake crushing its prey. You had lived through a few winters in the alley you called home, the box providing little shelter from your frozen hell. Water trickles from your nose and freezes to your thick black moustache. You are thankful you are able to grow the thick bushy beard that hangs from your chin, keeping your face warm. You watch as the yellow cabs race noisily on the main street and dream of warmer days.

A dark four door car pulls into your alley and stops in the street. The car continues to run as the headlights cast a low light directly to your box. The passenger door opens and you grab your hunting knife from your Army days from under your tattered blue blanket. The figure of a hulking man closes the passenger door and heads your way. As his face comes into view, you allow yourself to study his features and a bolt of excitement explodes through you. You put the knife back under your blanket and stand up, eager to see your old friend.

“Amos, you’re a hard man to locate these days,” said your friend with a laugh.

You smile as you answer him, “I don’t see how, I’ve had the same address for years.”

You share a laugh with your old friend and then shake hands, just like the old days.

“What can I do for you, Sarge?”

Sarge looks at your home and a you can see the sting of pain in his eyes. He reaches into the inside pocket of his long black coat that hides his green Army uniform and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He takes one out and offers you one which you greedily take. Sarge takes off a glove and presents a blue Bic and lights your smoke for you, then his own.

“How’d you find me?” You ask lightly.

Sarge looks at you with a stone face, the laughter and happiness of being reunited seemingly erased from his chiseled features. Sarge points toward the street. “It just so happened that you were recognized a few weeks ago. I had to come see for myself.”

Something must be wrong, you tell yourself, Sarge is always direct and doesn’t beat around the bush. You take a drag on the cig and change your mind on your line of questioning. “Alright, then why are you here?”

Sarge glances behind him and gazes momentarily at his car. “I have an offer you can’t refuse. In my care is a bag with some tools and twenty grand in cash. I need a job completed; it needs to stay off the grid.”

Fear and nervousness hit you like a Mack truck in your gut. “I can’t do that anymore, Sarge, not since Billy; that broke me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about your brother, he was a good man. I need you to do this Amos, and looking at your current living arrangements, I don’t think you can turn this down.”

You turn and look back at your dreary cardboard home, a sickening heaviness descends on you. Twenty grand could get you out of this alley, it might be worth it to take the job. You finish the cigarette and toss it on the ground.

“I’ll tell you what, Sarge, if you let me bum another smoke then I’ll do the job.”

Sarge laughs and reaches back into his coat pocket where he stored the cigarettes and lighter. You take another long drag as memories of the war flood into your tortured mind; memories of Billy.

“Come on,” Sarge states simply. “I’ll give you the orders in the car.”

You follow Sarge to the car and suck down every last puff the cigarette has to offer, dispose of it on the ground and climb into the back seat. The little black bag is beside you, and you open it before Sarge even starts to give you orders. Inside your gift bag is a Glock 19 with a suppresser, what appears to be the twenty grand in hundreds, and a little black book. You pick up the book and leaf through the pages. It is blank except for the first page. There is an address and a phone number.

“Here, take this,” Sarge says as he hands you a folding disposable grey cell phone. “The number is to my disposable, and the address a safe zone near the target’s location. Go there when the mission is finished and call me. The target wears a mask, it’s my understanding that his face got burned in the desert, and he doesn’t take it off; that’s how you will know it’s him. You take care of this and I may have some more jobs for you.”

You nod your head in agreement. You take in the warmth of the car’s heater and your fingers finally thaw out. This could be it for you, the break you need to get back to living a real life again. You think about your wife and how she tried to deal with your nightmares. She had tried so hard, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. You just weren’t her husband anymore.

The driver of the car continues out of the city, wipers going quickly to clear the now heavily falling snow, and through the Lincoln Tunnel spitting you out into New Jersey. You continue to enjoy the heat from the spacious sedan and relax enough to allow yourself to fall asleep.

You wake up as the sedan slowly stops outside what appears to be an old abandoned hotel. You study the structure and see that the windows are missing glass and the roof is hanging off the building casting a long shadow on the grey concrete blocks.

“Is this a five-star?” You ask with a smug smile. Sarge and the driver both laugh and you have a warm memory of how your life used to be. You think about the desert, and how you and Sarge used to patrol together at night. But then you think of Billy and the feeling is gone. You remember his last mission, the building, collapsing in fire, as you and Sarge ran out, barely escaping with your lives; turning around to see the structure fall into the sand with your brother still inside. You shake off the memory as Sarge gives you a final order.

“Stay in the hotel here, the target should be arriving in a white van. If our intelligence is correct he will have two guards with him, they are not a priority, but can be taken out if you have to. They will pass the hotel and drive to that warehouse up the road.” Sarge points ahead of you and you see the looming monstrosity. “They’re making some sort of bomb in there, we don’t have details, but watch your aim and be careful. We don’t know much about the target at all, but from what we have gathered he’s a key player in an attack that’s planned for Christmas day.”

You nod, indicating that you understand the mission and start to get out of the car with the black bag in tow. “Thanks for the salvation, Sarge I don’t know how many more winters I could have survived out there.”

“You have always been a survivalist, Amos. I just wish you wouldn’t have disappeared like you did.” Sarge turns in his seat to look at you. “You’re my brother, man, Billy was too. It’s a damn shame he had to go out like that, and I know it killed you. You know, I still have nightmares about that night.”

You can’t take anymore nostalgia and hold your hand up to stop Sarge midsentence. Sarge nods and you shake hands again. “Good luck, Amos. Call me when it’s done.”

You grab the black bag and climb out of the sedan. Sarge’s driver barley waits for you to close the door and speeds off. You turn towards the hotel and take a long look at your decrepit sanctuary. You shrug and walk towards the hole in the wall where the glass front door used to be. You walk through the lobby and notice that the hotel had been gutted. The front room is bare, and you can feel the needles of ice pricking your exposed neck and hands from the wind churning through the glassless windows. You shudder and wish you would have brought your blue blanket with you. You start toward the staircase and pass the dark, empty elevator shaft and make your way up the stairs to the third floor. You walk down the hallway and enter one of the rooms.

The room is mostly bare, there is a shadow of filth on the wall where a T.V. had once been. There is no bed or dressers, but you’re in luck, there is a chair close to the window. You look at the window and beam with the pride of victory, you have found one of the lucky rooms with tarnished glass still in the window frame. You set the black bag down and retrieve the gun from deep inside one of the bag’s pockets. You take the cash and the black book and stuff them into the pockets of your B.D.U.’s and sit down on the chair to begin your vigil.

Hours pass as you wait and watch. You inspect the Glock, taking out the magazine and checking the ammunition count hundreds of times. You think, I have fifteen rounds and three targets, this will be a breeze. As you wait you crave another cigarette, and wish you would’ve asked Sarge to give you a couple more.

The one working streetlight shines a dim glow on a vehicle passing by, the first one you have seen since you arrived. It’s a white van and it’s heading towards the warehouse. You check the magazine one last time and attach the suppressor. You then rack it, putting a round into the chamber and watch the van stop at the warehouse. You see three men get out and unload a crate from the back of the van, taking it into the warehouse. It’s time to go.

The door to the warehouse screams like a banshee when you muscle it open. You quickly duck out of site behind a cold metal pole to hide, in case you were heard. Sure enough, you hear footsteps coming your way. A man dressed in all black with a black ball cap steps into your view and out of the door you just entered. You follow him outside and to the right of the doorway. You get close and continue to follow the guard until he stops and turns. You raise the Glock to his surprised face and pull the trigger. You pull the trigger two more times and watch the guard fall to the ground. You turn back to the door you first entered and make your way back inside the warehouse.

You stealthily glide past crates and metal poles until you see two men standing in an open room with an opened crate sitting on a table. They both have their backs to you, so you move as close as you can to them while staying behind cover. You identify your target in a black ski mask, also dressed in black, giving orders to the guard. Why does his voice sound familiar? The guard nods to the target and quickly leaves the open room.

The target reaches to his head and pulls off the mask with a deep breath as you both hear the van outside fire to life. The target breathes heavily as you approach and hears you! He turns to you and you see something familiar in the mangled scars and burns.

“Amos!” He cried as you raise your Glock.

“Billy?”