Wuss's Wonderful Writings

The Dead-Eye Clove

-Months Ago-

A slender young man shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His fingers rattle the metal table in the tight, depressing grey room. He looks out to the mirror on one side of the wall. He seen enough cop shows to know that it's a two-way mirror with cops observing him like some animal. He knew what's he in for. Just send a cop and be done with it.

Finally, a man with white hair in black framed glasses steps inside and slaps the table with a folder. He sets a cup of coffee down and sits across from Shane. He opens up the folder revealing Shane's name and personal information. Finally, the officer spoke.

"Sorry for making you wait, kid." The officer passes a cup of coffee to him. "It's for you."

"Not in the mood." Shane sighed. "You guys took your time for what? To keep me here until I sing a song?"

"Not exactly. We looked around and dug up some information about you." He starts reading the documents from the folder. "Shane O'Connor, a Marine Corps veteran in his late twenties finds himself working with criminals and gangs as a hired gun."

So, they found about him being in the marines. That stuff isn't hard to find. They didn't dig far enough to find he wasn't just a marine, but was also part of Force Reconassiance, the elite batch of marines. Still, the officer bringing up his past felt... off.

"So... you took some time getting to know me?" Shane scoffed. "Yet, I don't even know you. You think a rookie mistake will make me talk, officer?"

"It's Captain Benítez, buddy." The officer remains unmoved and takes a sip. "But you can call me Roy."

"Well... Roy..." Shane shruggs. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Your recent job." Benitez flips a page in the binder. "You were involved with a narcotic deal at the construction site in Clinton, correct?"

"No, I wasn't the one handing out the goods. That was between Maggia's boys and that freak, Tombstone." Shane growls. "I was far away from the deal when your guys found me."

"You were on top of a warehouse a thousand feet across the river from the deal with a bolt action sniper rifle, A M-700 Carbon. I've not seen someone who can shoot far."

Shane shrugged. He didn't seem to be moved by that sudden interruption.

"If you plan to flatter me, congratulations. Head out to the front for some gold star. But I don't have anything to say. I'm kept out of the loop, you see. People hire me because I can do things they can't."

"Right. Why are you using your talents from the Marines to do people's dirty work? You plan to become a famous assassin?" Benitez's eyes flicker through his glasses. "Because we both know it will never happen. Criminals have no honor, unlike marines. There are other ways to make money. There's a PMC filled with people like you."

"I don't care about the families!" Shane slams the table with both hands. "They can kindly rot in hell. I don't think there's any difference to fight for money overseas than to do some nasty work here in the states."

"You got a point. We understand you were there on a job." Benitez pulls out a notepad and presses on the table. "Why don't we recap it?"

"Right..." Shane sighed and decided not to lie. "I was up there as Maggia's guardian angel as they made a drug exchange with Tombstone's bikers. It was going smoothly, and I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the gun men in black and purple."

-Earlier in the evening-

Shane's scope flickers to a group of the mercenaries jumping on the drug deal. Who were they? Are they mercenaries hired by a third rich party? Perhaps security guards who represent the owner of the project? It didn't matter because one of them had his rifle pointed at the don of the Maggia crime family.