33(S3E7)-Gold!

33

(Season 3, Episode 7)

Gold!

Afghanistan… Before

“I highly doubt that is how it happened.” Stone said into the earpiece that connected him to his partner, Rockwell.

Stone was hidden under some brush, unmoving on the side of one of the thousands of dirt roads that criss-crossed the foreign land.  He was still, his M-16 assault rifle set on three round burst.  He and his partner were waiting for a high profile target to make its way down the road.

They had gotten the information after ruthlessly torturing a different terrorist to gain the information. Rockwell had taken too much pleasure in this endeavor.  Stone didn’t mind, though.  At the end of the day, the two seemed to complement each other.

“You calling me a liar, mother fucker?” Rockwell chimed in over the mic.  He was hidden on the other side of the road up the side of the hill about two hundred yards away.  The dirt road moved through a natural valley, making it a perfect spot to launch their ambush.

“Yes, yes I am.” Stone replied, emotionlessly.

“What part don’t you believe?” Rockwell sounded hurt.

Stone knew that wasn’t the case.  Rockwell could not be hurt.

“All of it.” Stone responded.  “Especially the part where you used a groundhog to kill the pimp.”

“Wait, after the three way?”  Rockwell asked, confused.

“Yes.”  Stone allowed sarcasm to bleed into his voice.  “After the three way.”

“Well, I guess you just had to be there.” Rockwell said, giving up.

“I would have to, in order to believe any of it.” Stone replied.

“Fuck you.” Rockwell said.

Stone changed the subject.  “Do you have visual?”

Stone knew Rockwell was watching the road through the scope of his high powered .50 caliber rifle.  “Do I have a visual?”

Rockwell mocked.  “No I don’t, Echo Charlie Sierra, what’s with the army talk?  We’re fucking off the grid now.”

Stone sighed.  “Do you fucking see them, or not?”

“No, I don’t-.  Wait, I have them.”  Rockwell’s voice came back and Stone felt the adrenaline flood into his blood stream.

“What are we looking at?” Stone asked for in overview of a situation.

“Three open canopy Jeeps.  Twelve guys, all armed.  Looks like Ak’s.”  Rockwell described the targets.  “Twelve will put us back in the lead, mother fuckers!”

Rockwell was speaking about the kill board back at Rattlesnake.  The soldier with the most kills got a bonus each week.

“Shit, twelve is a lot,” Stone said, concerned.  “Not sure about this.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”  Rockwell spoke sharply.  “We have the upper hand.  Hell, I could probably take eight myself.”

Stone shook his head to himself.  “You are so full of shit.”

“When they are in the zone, I’m gonna’ cut loose.  If you want to be a pussy, stay in your bush.” Rockwell stated boldly.

“Alright dick,” Stone said giving in.  “I move on your mark.”

“Sweeeet...” Rockwell almost moaned.

“And Rockwell,” Stone said finally hearing the truck engine approaching.  “Make sure you miss me.”

Stone thumbed the safety on his rifle and prepared to make his move.  Suddenly, without warning Rockwell’s gun fired, sending the report echoing through the hills.

“Heads up, mother fuckers!” He yelled, less to Stone and more just in general.

Stone peeked out, knowing the target’s eyes would be on the hills.  Rockwell’s first shot had pierced the windshield of the lead Jeep and struck the terrorist’s center chest.  The huge round caved in his heart instantly.  The driver fell forward and the Jeep banked and flipped.  Two of the passengers had leapt off at the last second, hitting the ground and rolling through the dust and weeds.  The fourth passenger was not so lucky, as the Jeep’s full weight came down on top of him.

Rockwell’s second shot was an exact copy of the first, taking the middle Jeep’s driver.  That driver rocked back and the Jeep came to an immediate stop, his foot having hit the brake.

As the Jeep stopped, Stone let loose, firing a three round burst then adjusting and doing the same three times quickly in the matter of seconds.  The three remaining passengers dropped, in turn, all of them looking in the opposite direction.

Rockwell’s rifle sounded two more times in quick succession.  “Got your back!”  He said to Stone over the mic and Stone knew the two men from the first Jeep behind him had been dealt with.

Stone instead focused his attention on the third Jeep.  The men inside had decided to cut their losses and get the hell out of there.  Screaming Muslim obscenities, the driver gunned it, pulling the Jeep off road as he tried to get around the two wrecks in front of them.

Stone thumbed the fire rate from three-round burst to full auto and depressed the trigger.  The remaining 21 bullets spewed forth from the business end of the barrel in less than a second.  The lead punched holes into the side of the Jeep, riddled the right side front and right side back passengers with bullets and blew the front tire.

One of the bullets, which had passed through the passenger, ripped through the driver’s forearm at the same moment the tire blew.  These two factors together were more than enough to send the Jeep out of control and into the steep hill, the wheels leaving the ground and sending it crashing to its side.

Stone began to walk toward the Jeep, dropping his empty clip and pulling another one to reload.  One of the remaining targets pulled himself to his feet, screaming bloody murder.  Stone continued walking, unafraid as he knew what would come next.

The terrorist raised his rifle and, just before he fired, Rockwell’s weapon was heard and the man’s head exploded sending grey matter and skull fragments all over the Jeep behind him.

“Cut that one a little close.” Stone stated into the mic.

“I like it when their heads explode.” Rockwell sated with childlike wonder.

The driver was crawling away through the dust as Stone jammed the second clip into the gun and racked the slide.  He reached the crawling man’s side and kicked him over onto his back.

The man put his hands up and started screaming things in panicked Arabic.  He seemed to be begging for his life.  Stone hesitated as he caught a couple of words he had picked up.

“What’s the hold up?”  Rockwell asked over the mic.  Stone figured he was eager to see the ‘head pop’.

“This guy is saying something confusing.  I think he’s saying ‘Take it.” Stone said back, confused.

“Take what?” Rockwell asked.

“I’m not sure.  I think he’s trying to buy his life.”  Stone responded, bending closer to try to understand what the driver was saying.

“Bored.” Rockwell suddenly yelled and his rifle sounded through the hills.  The driver’s chest exploded as the high caliber round struck him.  This spewed blood over Stone’s face.

“You fucking asshole!” Stone yelled, stumbling backward and spitting the man’s blood out of his mouth.

Stone heard Rockwell’s jackal-like laughter in as he stumbled into the backend of the overturned Jeep, franticly wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve.  His leg bumped into the crate which had fallen out of the back end of the Jeep.  When he did, it opened slightly and he saw something fall out and catch his eye.

He stared at it in shock.  “Rockwell, get down hear.”

A couple of minutes later, Rockwell and Stone stood at the back of the middle Jeep.  It was still upright. Two crates sat in the back end of the all-terrain vehicle.  Stone pulled his knife and pried open one of the crates.

“Mother fucker.”  Rockwell said in awe.

The two men were staring at a crate full of gold bars.  The Jeeps had been transporting gold.  Lots of it.

Stone took one look and knew that he had just retired.

****
Shaky stood outside the Rattlesnake base and watched the sun setting.

Coswald Broker Smith, otherwise known as Shaky, was convinced he had been born with extra ordinary abilities.  He had a sixth sense about people.  He could feel when he was being lied to, screwed over or abandoned.  This special sense had never been mistaken, not once in his life.

This allowed him to do a few things with absolute perfection.  Play poker, kill men, and call bullshit for what it was.

His sixth sense was going off right now.

“Who hasn’t checked in?” He asked Napalm, his second in command.

“Rockwell and Stone, Sir.”  Napalm responded.

Shaky took a second to focus his ability and in that instant, he knew.  Rockwell and Stone were trying to fuck him over.  “Get the men, we are going after them.”

32(S3E6)-I Want One

Episode 32

(Season 3, Episode 6)

I Want One

Rockwell had not slept.  His mind was consumed with the woman he had met the night before.  The daughter.

Rockwell had been around the block more than a few times.  He fucked just about every type of woman he could find.  He thought he had them figured out.  He had pegged them for mostly disposable or, in rare cases, gun toting threats.  There were a rare few who had an unprecedented ability to control men with their naughty bits.

Rockwell was immune to this kind of manipulation.  Love and seduction were foreign concepts to him.

This was different.

“No,” Stone said as Rockwell stood in his doorway and watched hers from across the hall.

“No, what?” Rockwell replied knowing what he meant.

Stone sighed. “She is off limits.”

“I want one.”  Rockwell said as her door opened and she strolled into her doorway wearing a tank top and short shorts she had obviously slept in.

She leaned against her own door frame and looked back at him as if she knew he had been there waiting.  Her jaw was bruised where he had smacked her but it somehow made her smile sweeter to look at.

“Maude,” The old voice of Gerald Roman dragged Rockwell back from perverse fantasy.

Rockwell turned to see Gerald standing in the hallway behind him, his eyes were cold and dark.  “Her name is Maude and she is mine.”

Mine.  The choice of words was interesting to Rockwell.  He did not say my daughter or my little girl, but ‘mine’, as if she were a possession.  Rockwell turned back toward Maude again and the girl had lowered her head and sunk back into her room.  Rockwell’s fractured mind started to put it together.  The night before he had seen the same madness in Maude’s eyes that he had in his own, but after he had been beaten and locked alone with his imaginary friend in his room and had a chance to think, he had wondered that if she was truly like him, truly fearless, truly mad, then why was she still here.

Now it came to him.  The Senator.

Her madness stemmed from him and his actions but it also held her, chained to him and this house.

“What did you do to your daughter, Gerry?”  Rockwell said, turning back to face him.

Jerry responded with a series of nervous, guilt-ridden twitches before he regained his scowl.  “Come with me.”

Gerald turned and walked back the way from which he came down the hall.  Rockwell considered, then followed.  He had put himself in this game, might as well play along.

Gerald led him through the giant house, so many hallways and stairs.  Rockwell could never imagine living in this place.  He would get lost.  He had never had the sense of direction that Stone had.  Stone was always the navigator in the desert and then in the urban jungle when they had come home.  Stone was the consummate professional, a jack of all trades.

Rockwell was a trigger finger and that’s about it.

A rare ping of doubt entered Rockwell.  Shaky was the best of the best.  Without Stone, maybe Rockwell could not win.  Rockwell didn’t fear failure.  For that matter, Rockwell didn’t fear anything.  He very rarely doubted and he almost never felt emotion, but in this moment, he missed Stone.

Gerald led them into a large museum-like room.  Around the room were well-made and kept glass cases showing all sorts of different items from the Civil War.

“This is my private collection,” Gerald began.  “My great, great, great grandfather was a general in the Yankee Army.  He fought under General Sherman.”

Rockwell’s eyes glazed over, he hated history.  “Should I save you some time and tell you now, how bored I am?”

Gerald ignored him as he looked around the room.  “I have read that you have an affinity for rare and classic firearms.”

Rockwell frowned at the way he worded it.  “I like bad-ass guns.”

Gerald again ignored him.  “Then you may find this interesting.  Everything in this room is actual artifacts that my ancestor used to fight that war.  He was cavalry.”

Gerald pointed to a display case in the center of the room, inside was a wild-west era silver revolver with an ivory grip and a strange hooked bar that ran the length of the barrel.

“A Scholfield,” Rockwell said as his eyes widened.

A Scholfield was a north side Civil War cavalry revolver made with a special design for easy reload on horseback.  The user would drag the hook against his leg to disengage the lock and it would break open from the top.  The rider could then dump the shells and, using a speed loader, reload it using only one hand.  This way, the rider could use his other hand to control the horse.

The gun came out toward the end of the war and this particular type was incredibly rare.

“I’m going to call you, Annie.” Rockwell whispered to the gun.

“Excuse me?” Gerald asked.

Rockwell looked up and smiled.  “Nothing.”

“Look,” Gerald said.  “I want to make this very clear to you.  This room is a shrine to doing whatever it takes to-”

“Stop.” Rockwell irrupted him.

Gerald gave him a shocked, angry look.  “What?”

“This is the part where you give me some speech about General Sherman’s Scorched Earth Strategy, and doing anything it takes and blah, blah, blah-do-fucking-blah.”  Rockwell said mockingly.  “And really, it’s all just to reaffirm that you are in charge and I’m not.  That you are the boss.”

Gerald frowned.  Rockwell had his full attention.

Rockwell loved having attention.  “But let’s face it, you’re not.”

“I have had just about enough of-” Gerald tried to retake the alpha spot and failed.  He was too far gone.

“You have a killer after you, and to deal with him, you have hired a monster.” Rockwell continued.  “You are hoping the monster kills the killer and then goes away, but that’s a best case scenario.  You can only hope he’s going to be happy with killing the killer.  You can only hope he’s not going to fuck your daughter and steal your gun.  In the end though, you can only hope because, after all, he is a monster. “

Gerald continued to stare in anger but now something else had crept into his eyes.

Fear.

Rockwell grinned.

“You should be careful.”  Gerald said his voice low and full of intent.  “I won’t need you forever.”

Rockwell shrugged.  “Carful is not my thing.”

Rockwell turned and walked out.  Stone was standing in the doorway as he passed.  “That was overdramatic.”

“That was fun.”  Rockwell replied.

****

Maude shut the door behind her, the fear binding her actions again.  She hated the fear and the self-loathing and all the other circular hate that she could not escape.  Her father had done this to her.  He had broken her mind and then freed it while also binding it to him.

Something was different now, though.  Something was allowing her to subdue her fear.  Something was allowing her true madness to take shape.

It was the stranger.  Rockwell.

He was undefinable.  New.  He was a walking disaster.  A force of nature.  A force of change that forever altered everything he came into contact with.

For the better or worse?  That did not matter.  She just wanted change.  She wanted her to burn her life to the ground.

She felt her bruise, which still hurt to the touch and her body clenched with hate and rage.  Her mind showed her sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck and ripping his throat out, murdering him in the worst way she could think of.

Her finger found her lips and the hate disappeared as quickly as it came, being replaced with unending need.  She warmed and moistened at the thought of his lips on hers.  Her brain took her to a ferial session of sex while her house father bodyguards and all burned down around them.

She audibly moaned. The unknown was the best part.

Rockwell, her knight in shining armor.

No.

Her knight in blood soaked armor.

He was here and nothing would be the same.

 

 

 

31(S3E5)-Understanding

31

(Season 3, Episode 5)

Understanding

The Roman Estate

Bolo shoved Rockwell forward through the threshold of the guest room, having already taken his gun.  “This is where you sleep.  Don’t leave the room or my men will put you down.”

Rockwell took a deep breath, forcing himself to not do something crazy.  “You have a lot of faith in your men.  Personally, from what I have seen, they are lacking.”

This was a perfectly placed blow.  Rockwell watched as the massive black man’s disposition darkened.  “I am going to do everything in my power to get the old man to reconsider, and when he does, you and me are gonna take a ride.”

Rockwell’s eyes brightened.  “Tell me you are going to take me to get ice cream?”

“Naw, mother fucker.” Bolo said with intent laced words.

Bolo turned to walk away and Rockwell spoke up again.  “Riddle me this Ebony, how the fuck am I supposed to protect your senator, when I’m locked in my room with no gun?”

Bolo paused at the racial shot.  “You aren’t, honky.  We are going to protect him.  You are only still alive to please Roman.  Sweet dreams, dick.”

Bolo walked down the hall and Rockwell shut the door, putting himself into darkness.  He stared at the door, fuming.  “’Honky’? Who the fuck says ‘honky’ anymore?”

Rockwell angrily muttered to himself in the darkness.  “I’m being held captive by fucking Richard Roundtree.”

“I told you to walk away from this.” Stone’s ghost had reappeared.

Rockwell scowled at him.  “Awesome, you’re back.”

“Well what did you expect?  As long as you are crazy, I’m going to be here to explain your mistakes.  I don’t see you getting sane anytime soon.”  Stone countered as Rockwell took off his hat and whipped it at the bed.

“Mother fucker, if I did everything you say, no one would be having fun.”  Rockwell countered.

“How is this fun?!”  Stone yelled back.

“What does he look like?”  A new voice silenced Rockwell and his apparition.  It was a young woman’s voice, high and petite, with an insidious force hiding behind it.

Rockwell turned and hit the light switch, immediately illuminating the oversized guest room, king sized bed and even its own bathroom.  In a comfy looking chair in the far corner sat a girl who, at a glance would look fifteen, but upon closer examination, she was probably closer to nineteen.  She had dark, black, straight hair and almost black eyes.  She wore torn jeans and an old Metallica t-shirt.  Rockwell figured she wouldn’t stand taller than 5’6’’ and she was rail thin.

Rockwell locked eyes with her.

She did not blink.

“No.” Stone muttered the word forcefully and Rockwell ignored it instantly.

“What does he look like?” She asked again putting more emphasis on each word as she stood slowly. She moved like a snake through a field.  Slowly.  Methodically.

Rockwell stared another moment longer as she took a couple of steps in his direction.

“He’s-” Rockwell began but she raised a figure to silence him.

“Never mind,” She said.  “I can see him, oh he’s almost as good looking as you.”

She looked in Stone’s direction and Rockwell’s eyebrow rose.  “You can see him?”

She turned back to Rockwell.  “Yeah…. He’s a bitch isn’t he?”

Rockwell took too steps forward and backhanded her in the face.  The blow sent her to the ground, hard.  It also broke her lip open.

“Respect, bitch.” Rockwell responded, simply.

She looked back at him as she stood, wiping the blood from her lip.  Again, their eyes locked. She did not blink.

She was damaged, Rockwell could see that.  Whatever it had been, maybe he father the rapist, or someone else, but she had been marked.  Her soul was twisted, like Rockwell’s.  She was far past a point of redemption.  Rockwell, in that moment, emotionally connected with her.

This was not an easy thing for Rockwell.

Most who met Rockwell, or saw him, would infer that his loud personality and impulsive decisions came from a place of emotion.  They couldn’t be more wrong.  In fact, Rockwell was emotionless.  It allowed him the freedom to do whatever he wanted and to feel nothing.  In his life, Rockwell had only previously emotionally attached to two other people;

The first was Stone.  Stone was the perfect counter-balance to Rockwell’s insanity.  Stone was Rockwell’s soul mate.  This is why Rockwell’s mind manifested his vision, because without the logic of Stone, Rockwell would slowly become more animal than human.

The second was Jim Creegan.  Rockwell hated Jim Creegan more than any man he had ever met.  This hate was not because Creegan had previously gotten in Rockwell’s way and lived, on two separate occasions, although, it didn’t help.  His hatred stemmed from Creegan’s ability to trust, sacrifice and to love.  These were things Rockwell was incapable of.  He hated Creegan because he was good.  Bad hates good.  It was that simple.

What he experienced now was something different, something he failed to fully understand.  He was pondering this when she lashed out with her nails, taking skin out of Rockwell’s face and leaving three cuts across his cheek and forehead.

“Fucking whore!” Rockwell yelled as she wound up to attack him again him, her disposition turning evil in a second.  Rockwell caught her hand with his left and grabbed her throat lifting her off the ground and slamming her against the wall.

She didn’t groan or cry out.  She moaned.

She then grabbed his neck with her free hand and pushed her thumb into his throat.  Blood ran down her lip and Rockwell’s face as they both leered at each other with want and hate.  As they tried to kill each other, their lips began to draw slowly, inexpiably closer to each other.

The door to the room suddenly burst open.  The guards being drawn to the noise inside.  The two didn’t even look at them, only continued to stare at each other while still choking.  The guards grabbed Rockwell and pulled him backwards as Bolo caught the girl around the waist and dragged her backward out of the room.

Rockwell and the woman couldn’t stop staring at each other, locking eyes even as the two guards pummeled Rockwell, until she was dragged out of sight.

Roman walked into the room, livid but making sure to stand behind his two muscly black guards.  “You God damned degenerate.  My daughter is off limits?!  Do you understand me?  You stay away from Megan or I swear I will kill you three times over.”

Rockwell’s gaze shifted to him and he smiled.  He didn’t respond, as he wasn’t in the habit of lying.

When Roman thought he had gotten his point across he turned and left the guards training behind him and shutting the door as they left.

Stone shook his head.  “What the fuck was that?”

Rockwell’s smile was ear to ear.  “Fun.”

****

The Bent Elbow

“Jimmy, boy.” Patti said as the corner of her mouth twitched.  This was the closet to a smile that she could produce.

“It’s okay Saturday, she’s a friend.”  Saturday heard him but frowned, not ready to let her past.

“A friend of Jim’s is a friend of ours.”  Paul backed him up from the bar and Saturday backed off with grunt.

Patti walked over to the bar and took a seat next to Creegan.  Paul watched her come.  “So what can I get for the lady?  I’m judging by the accent, Guinness?”

Patti frowned.  “American Guinness, is for fake Irish.  Jameson.”

Paul’s eyebrows went up.  “The hard stuff it is.”

Creegan smiled at Paul.  “Thanks Paul.”

Paul nodded with a smile and walked off to get her drink.

“How are you Patti?” Jim asked to open the conversation.

“Bored and pissed.”  She answered as Paul placed the drink in front of her.

Jim shrugged.  “Right to the point, huh?”

“Never been one to fuck around, at least not with intentions.”  Patti said as she downed half the glass of strong uncut alcohol without batting her eye.

“In that case, what are you doing here?”  Jim asked her.

“I’m here to help you find your balls.”  She said, matter-of-factly.

Jim turned towards her, perplexed.  “Wasn’t aware they needed finding.”

Patti frowned back at him.  “Then what the fuck is all this, mate?”

Jim shook his head.  “What are you talking about?”

“This, you fucking pansy!” She waved her arms around.  “This settled-down, bouncer bullshit?”

Jim’s head lowered.  “This is what I do now.”

“This is fucking, bullshit!” She yelled at him.

Creegan turned back toward her with anger.  “Hey, fuck you.  I don’t care what we have been though you don’t have a right-”

Patti cut him off.  “Fuck that, I have seen you.  I have seen your heart.  This bullshit ain’t you, this life.  You aren’t ready to settle down.  You need blood.  You need violence.”

Creegan fumed as he stood.  “I think you should get out of here.”

“Hit a spot, have I?” Patti said, finishing the liquor and standing to face him.

“Look,” Creegan said quieting down to a whisper as the staff watched their situation now.  “I never wanted any of that stuff, not the shit with Maggie, and none of that Kill Elmo crap.  I just want to be left alone.”

Patti stared at him then shook her head.  “Then what is with the pit fighting bullshit?”

Creegan’s eyes raced back and forth, praying no one heard her say that.  “Not here, alright?”

Patti nodded, pulled out a ten and slapped it on the bar for the drink.  “You ain’t this guy.  You have the same thing I got in me no matter how much you try and hide it.  I’m gonna’ make it my mission to show you that.  See you around, jimmy.”

Patti turned and walked out.  Paul made his way over and leaned on the bar.  “What was that about?”

“Regret, I think.”  Creegan muttered, then walked back into the kitchen to get ready for his shift.