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Author Topic: In which the God of War comes out to play...  (Read 7650 times)

Joel

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In which the God of War comes out to play...
« on: January 22, 2007, 09:11:52 am »

7 – God Comes Out to Play

As far as I could tell, during my crazy time I took Porter’s boat far enough south into the Gulf of Alaska to be out of sight of all land.  If that was true, to cruise west would take me somewhere in the vicinity of Sitka, and east would take me to Canada.  Sitka would be the safest course; I was pretty sure I could find it by cut and try, and there I could get charts and my bearings.  But it was still too far from the mainland for this boat to go in one fuel load.  If I assumed that the crazy me had steered south by southeast I might have enough fuel to make Queen Charlotte Island by continuing that course.  If I could find the Island, I could get to Vancouver with no problem.  From there I could do…whatever I decided to do.

It was a wild gamble, trusting the judgment of a berserk fool I barely even remembered.  But still, it sort of stood to figure, didn’t it?  He’d be as familiar with the Gulf as I am.  It’s what I would have done.  And he was – sort of – me.  Wasn’t he?

Hell, for all I knew I was in the Bering Sea.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

***
Sheriff’s Deputy Gale Lewis drove slowly on the coast road of the Olympia Peninsula, patrolling between Port Hadlock and the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge as he did two or three times a night, most nights.  Nothing was going on, which wasn’t surprising since nothing hardly ever went on here.  But he had to keep an eye out for kids throwing parties on the Federal beach, or for immigrant smugglers.  Mostly the first; Lewis had never taken down a smuggler, but it would be a pretty nice break in the routine.  Now and then somebody broke down on the road, and Lewis called them a tow truck after checking to make sure their NID and papers were kosher.  Once in a blue moon he got to arrest somebody for an NID violation or bench warrant.  It was boring duty, but not unpleasant. 

Could be worse; he’d transferred here after five years in Seattle, where there was way too much “real police work” for any sane man – or his wife – to ever enjoy.  Now at least he knew he’d make it to the end of a shift without ending up in a hospital or doing a bunch of unpaid overtime.

Boy, you couldn’t really be sure of that anywhere, though.  It had been over a week since the news that everyone in the precinct house was still talking about.  Imagine!  Nine Feebies killed, all in Anchorage of all places.  What the hell ever happened in Anchorage?  There was nothing in the news, of course, but the stories spreading on the websites that catered to law enforcement officers got more lurid with every telling.  Some botched raid had gotten a couple of SWATs killed and more wounded, and then the guy they were after, who wasn’t even there when the raid went down, went after the guys who killed his girlfriend.  Tortured a woman to death, killed a guy in his hospital bed for God’s sake.  Shot a bunch of them down where they stood.  And the team leader disappeared along with his boat and never was found, and it sounded like nobody was looking for him very hard.  Lots and lots of ocean out there.  Jesus.

Speaking of ocean…Lewis slowed and pulled to the left shoulder, putting on his lights.  Something dark and boat-shaped lay on the beach, right at the tide line.  Looked like somebody beached a boat and then the tide went out on them.  He lifted his radio microphone from its hook.  “Dispatch, three bravo twelve.  Looks like a 410 or possible 281, a boat on the beach.  919 to investigate, over.”  He didn’t bother to give his location, since of course all the damned nanny chips on his vehicle told the dispatcher precisely where he was, every minute.  Couldn’t be wandering off for a doughnut on duty, because that wouldn’t be right.

The radio crackled.  “Roger, three bravo twelve.  Do you need backup? Over.”

“Negative, Dispatch.  No movement in the area.”

“Roger, three bravo twelve.  I have you 919 at 2217.”

“Copy, Dispatch.”  Lewis pulled his flashlight from its bracket and opened the door.  Suddenly a shadow seemed to loom next to him.  Startled, he turned his head but saw nothing but a black cylinder pointed at his eye.

“Hi, there!” said a voice from the darkness.

There was the beginning of a loud noise, which broke off as the world went red and then suddenly black.

***
Like Morgan Freeman or somebody said, “two in the head, you know he’s dead.”  I shove the suppressed .22 into my waistband behind my back.  Then I pull the cop’s body into some bushes between the road and the beach, where I’ve already piled bags with the goodies from the boat.  Going through his pockets I take his wallet and some keys for a car that isn’t the squad car.  Excellent!
Now I need to find out where the police station is, and I’m hoping that won’t be too hard.  I look in his wallet for his driver’s license; okay, he lives in Port Hadlock.  Now; hopefully that’s where the station is, but I won’t know until a little later.  He’s bigger around than me, so I put his shirt on over my own, buckle on his gun belt and radio, and collect his hat.  I dump the bags into the back seat.

This is gonna be fun!  I’m just totally making this shit up as I go along.  Old Michael was going to hike to the nearest town, wait till daylight, hire a locker, buy a car, chart out his whole plan of action.  No doubt detailed maps would be involved, with circles and arrows and shit.  Well, fuck that, there’s a big, blood-stained boat washed up on the beach, and sometimes you’ve just got to do it, y’know?  There will be imperial entanglements, and we’re not ready for that yet.  So I pushed him aside for a while.  He’ll be fine.

Hey, nice car.  Wonder what’s in the trunk?  I pop the trunk, and sure enough there’s an old AR15 and some armor in here.  Not as nice as the FBI toys, but it should be good for something.  I won’t put the rifle in the bag right now, in case I have to negotiate with the cops when I find the station.  Their own rifle – that’d be cool.

I drive south toward Port Hadlock, but pass through another little town first.  Carlsborg; who names these places? 

Outside a convenience store I find a phone.  Ignoring some curious looks from the baaing flock, I call information and get the number for the nearest sheriff’s department. Information connects me automatically, which is damned nice when you think about it.

“Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office,” says a very nice-sounding lady.

I ask for their address, and she gives it to me as sweet as you please.  I do believe I’ll let her live for now.  And son of a gun, it’s in Port Hadlock after all.

This car has a really cool navigation system, with a road map.  I drive to the station, which I think is awfully thoughtful of me since this is their car and all.  The radio has been squawking at me for some time, but I don’t know how to answer convincingly so I just let them talk.  Hopefully they haven’t started tracking the car yet.  If they do, they’ll be delighted to see their car coming home, and this next maneuver could get pretty interesting. 

That makes me think of one of Michael’s favorite old movies, and I laugh out loud.  “Oh god, oh god, you’re all going to die!”  Ha!

The car I’m looking for in the parking lot must be an older model; it’s got an old-fashioned two-sided key with an electronic fob.  I drive up the lane, pushing the unlock button, and sure enough one car starts honking and flashing its lights at me.  Just like I planned it that way.  Who needs Michael?

I park the squad car right next to it, transfer the goods and drive away without anybody even looking up.  That should keep them guessing.

Now, I might seem like I’m being a little impulsive here.  But I’m not.  Really.  I know, as soon as they figure out that Officer Friendly didn’t just ditch his prowler and go home, they’re gonna be looking for this car real hard and it won’t be hard to find.  But that’s okay, because I…have…a…plan! 

***
Chief Deputy Hocksler had never seen the station in such an uproar.  Gale Lewis was a reliable, well-liked officer, and when he just stopped responding after calling in his suspicious vehicle report, all hell broke loose.  That was nothing compared to the chaos when the investigating officers found his body shot in the head.  Then they found his squad car, its engine still hot, parked right in their own lot.

At first it was hard to get anything done.  Most of the women and some of the men were crying and carrying on.  He had to call the medical examiner out of bed and get other deputies out to secure the scenes.  It took almost an hour before somebody noticed that Lewis’ personal car was missing, and by that time Hocksler was in a rage.  “Find it!” he roared at the whole bawling office.  “Find me that car!”

***
Ever since the Freedom and Revenue On The Highways Act of 2009, all motor vehicles old and new were required to be fitted with transponders, each continually pinging its VIN and the NID of its registered owner to a huge and constantly-growing network of sensors.  Principally used to collect road taxes, it had been sold to the public as a measure to combat auto theft and of course terrorism.  It did almost ironically cause auto theft and carjacking to become the most stupid of crimes, and the incidence of those crimes declined to almost nothing.  By simply tapping the VIN or owner’s NID into a computer program, a shining line appeared on a map that could be referenced for any time period required.  It was simply impossible to hide a car for very long, in any city or on any major highway.  This was particularly true if the car was still moving.  The 2007 Pontiac Bonneville being driven by the entity which occupied the body of Michael Owens had no chance of escape.  On Route 101 west of Olympia, troopers of the Washington State Patrol diverted traffic and set up a massive roadblock.

***
I barrel along the 101 as fast as this crate can go.  I’ll get to Olympia before they can track the car, then ditch it and come up with some other wheels somehow.  It’s only about one in the morning, so there’s plenty of time.  This is perfect!  I’m home free!

Just then – fuck! – in my rearview mirror I see a State Patrol prowler blocking a passing onramp!  There’s a roadblock ahead, there has to be!  How did they do that so quick?

Well, it doesn’t matter.  I stomp the brake and jam the transmission into Reverse, reaching behind me for the rifle.  Shouldn’t have let me know, guys!  Now your shift is gonna get a lot shorter.

The cops start shooting as I approach backward.  I feel pistol bullets and buckshot whacking the car, and see them perforate the rear window.  I yank the wheel and send the rear of the Bonneville slamming into the police car’s grill.  The two cops dive out of the way just in time to avoid getting creamed by the open doors they’ve been hiding behind.  I slam the transmission into Park and step out.  The nearest cop recovers pretty quickly, and a bullet socks into my ceramic armor.  Thank you, Uncle Sam!

“Say hello to my li’l frein’!”  I shout, laughing, as I put about five rounds into him.  He’s wearing police Kevlar, which the rifle bullets barely seem to notice.  The guy is just fountaining blood.  It’s really pretty and I’d love to stay and watch for a while, but from the corner of my eye I see his li’l frien’ rise to his knees and level a shotgun at me.

That would hurt, and it’s just been too nice a night.  So I dive to my stomach and roll until the police car is between us.  I hear his gun go off, but can’t see where the shot goes.  In the glow of the ramp lights, part of him is clearly visible from under the car.  I give him about half the magazine.  He falls screaming, and I give him a few more until he shuts up.

Game, set, and match, mortals.  You guys are pathetic.  Is this why we pay taxes?

I hear sirens in the distance, which is all right because I’ll be long gone in just a minute.  But then I hear another sound, much closer, and that’s not all right at all.  A big police jetcopter is screaming toward me.  If I were the crew, I’d have blood in my eye.

Which, come to think of it, isn’t a bad idea.  I yank open the Bonneville’s rear door and pull a fresh 30-round magazine out of my bag’o’goodies.  Jacking it into the rifle, I aim at the chopper’s canopy and let fly.  He switches off his lights, and now it’s hard to see just what I’m shooting at.  He’s determined, I’ll give him that.  He jinks around for a bit, but finally gives it up and tries to get away.  Just then I hit the pilot or something just as good, and the chopper loses its way and slams into the ground pretty hard.  It’s really time to go now.

I jump into the Bonneville, intending to turn around and race up the ramp.  But a thumping and looseness in the rear tells me I’ve lost at least one tire.  God damn it!  That wasn’t supposed to happen!

Stomping the pedal, I claw my way up the ramp past the ruined police car.  There’s some little rice box coming up the connecting road, and I force the dying Bonneville to drag itself across the road and block its path.  I jump out and point my pistol at the driver.
She’s a cute little girl with short blond hair.  I feel Michael yelling at me now.  He hasn’t had much to say about all the rest that’s happened tonight, but he doesn’t like this at all.  I don’t have time to deal with him.  “Stop!”  I yell.  “And stay stopped.”

Her eyes are really big and terrified.  I can’t decide how I feel about that.  Something about it fills me with joy, and I want to hurt her just because I can.  Something screams that it’s wrong!  Wrong!  I’m confused.

But I don’t have time for confusion, either.  Things are happening really fast now.  Those sirens are getting close, and so is death.  I’m the god of war; I can’t die.  Not now.  The girl is stopped, and that’s all I need to care about.

Quick as I can, I grab my goodies.  I rush to the right side of the rice box, open the door, and throw them in the tiny back seat.  Then I jump into the shotgun seat.  I point my pistol at the girl and yell “Go!  Go!”

She goes.  I tell her to take the next turn to the right, away from the interstate.  She does what I tell her, without saying a word.  I can feel her fear.  Always before, the fear made me feel strong, feel right.  But now something is wrong.  I can’t be weak!  I am the god of war, and I am strong!

The sirens fade and disappear.  Wherever they’re going, they’re not following me any more.  I’ve escaped my enemies, for the moment.  Now it’s time to find a place to hole up.

“Where do you live, girl?”

The girl’s eyes are glued to the road.  She thinks I’m going to kill her, and I really should.  I’m not going to, but I can’t decide why.  “I live in Tacoma,” she says.  “I…I was visiting my…”

“Shut up.  Drive home to Tacoma.  Don’t speed, and don’t stop for anything.”

“Mister,” Her voice is trembling.  “Take the car and let me go, okay?  I don’t…”

“Girl, what part of shut up don’t you understand?  Just drive home.  I won’t hurt you if I don’t have to.”

What’ll they do now?  They’ll search the land around where I left my car, of course.  Will they assume I hijacked another car?  And if they do, what’ll they do about it?  They were better, quicker than I expected.  They might have other tricks.  I’d better load up.
I reach around behind me for one of my bags.  There’s a nice German submachine gun and a bunch of loaded magazines, and I want them in the front with me.  But twisting to my left, I feel something tear in my side.  At first I go for my pistol; did the girl shiv me or something?  No – she’s got both hands tight on the wheel.  So what’s wrong?  I tear open the Velcro on my vest and pull out the side panel.  It comes away wet and drips on the plastic of the seat.  That old wound has come open.  Michael, that pussy!  Why couldn’t I have a proper body?  There are some field dressings in one of my bags, but I don’t have space enough in this Nipponese sardine can to take off my vest.  It’ll just have to be all right.  I tighten the vest and get the MP5, ignoring any further damage.

The trip seems to take forever, but no new bad thing happens.  Several cops scream past us on I-5, but they’re all going the other way.  Nobody pays any attention to us.

We’ve been driving through a city for some time when the girl speaks.  “This is Tacoma.  Where do you want to get out?” she asks hopefully.

Nice try, kid.  “Drive home.”

She moans softly, but keeps driving.  We go through a bunch of neighborhoods, and come at last to the driveway of a little house.  There’s an attached garage, and I tell her to put the car inside.  Then we go in the house, the girl in front of my gun.  She says she lives here alone, but I don’t trust her.

There’s something wrong with this body; it’s weak and groggy, and leaving a little trail of blood wherever I go.  I’ll have to take care of that, but first I need to do something about the girl.  I should just kill her!  Why can’t I?

Rummaging through a goody bag, I find a couple of pairs of handcuffs.  “Sit over there,” I command her, pointing to a kitchen chair.  She obeys, and I cuff her to it hand and foot.  Pretty little hands, pretty little ankles.  She won’t try to go anywhere.

I lay my weapons on the kitchen counter and peel off my armor.  Yep, all that dancing around has torn open the wounds, and Michael’s poor soft body is bleeding to death.  Can’t allow that right now; we still need it.  It’s in pain, too; I’ll give it a shot of morphine after I feed it and stop the bleeding.
« Last Edit: July 06, 2007, 08:05:35 pm by Joel »
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Joel

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #1 on: January 22, 2007, 09:15:13 am »

The SAC of the Seattle FO met Winston at SeaTac with a car and driver.  “You got here just in time,” he said without preliminaries.  “It’s already started.  He ditched a boat near Port Angeles, and we’ve got a trail of dead cops from there to Olympia.”

Once in the car, he detailed the carnage.  “Jesus, Inspector Winston, there hasn’t been anything like this since the ‘thirties.  Everywhere he went, any time anybody tried to stop him, he just opened up on them.  The helicopter got good infrared visuals on him, and the survivors say he’s got federal SWAT armor and weapons.”

“Don’t take us to the FO yet,” Winston said.  “I want to see the landing site.  Do you have a helicopter here?”

Of course they did, and they took it for the short hop to Port Angeles.  A police car met them, and soon Winston stood next to the beached hull of the old boat.  They always seemed so much bigger out of the water; somebody had propped an aluminum ladder against it, and Winston could hear agents clomping around inside.  Winston had never been happy about heights, and he hated shaky ladders.  But he didn’t let anyone see the slightest hesitation as he clambered up to the tilted deck.  He shook hands with the agents.  “What’ve we got so far?” he asked.

One of the agents waved him into the cramped cabin.  “Gotta tell you, Inspector, it was a pretty good trick getting this tub here from Anchorage.  There’s, like, no nav equipment at all.  Hull leaks, bilge pump barely works and the bilge fans don’t; he’s lucky the whole thing didn’t blow up when he refueled.”

“Do we know where he did that?”

“No, sir, but we will before the end of the day.  There are complications, because we’re pretty sure it was in Canada.  But they’re cooperating.”  The agent waved toward some open, empty cabinets.  “The State Troopers are saying he used FBI gear.  Could it have come from here?”

Winston nodded.  “Porter wasn’t always exactly scrupulous about checking gear back in.  It could be, or from the other SWAT agents.”  He tapped the agent’s arm.  “I wanna know how he paid for his fuel.  If he used cash, make sure they get it.  Owens killed an ATM machine, and we’ve got all the serial numbers.”

The agent raised an eyebrow.  “Destructive son of a bitch, isn’t he?”  He straightened up and looked nervous.  “Begging your pardon, Inspector.”

Winston smiled.  “Right the first time.  He’s every inch a destructive SOB.  Smiled at the camera while he did it.”

“Inspector!”  The other agent held up a small object with forceps.  “Check this out!”

Winston took the two steps it required to cross the cabin and squatted next to the agent.  “Huh.”  He took the forceps, and squinted at the label on the small clear bottle.  “Morphine.  Okay, that makes sense.”  He handed it back.  “Check the ID right away.  Owens broke into a drug locker at the hospital where he killed Sawyer, stole a shitload of morphine and antibiotics.  Looks like we’re starting to find it.  I’m guessing we’ll find a trail of little bottles from here on out, but if he sells some for cash we might get lucky.  I want a list of all the serial numbers for the stolen drugs, today.”

The agent nodded.  “Yessir.”

He returned to the first agent.  “What’ve we got on this blood?”

“We’ve sent samples to the Lab.  I don’t know what to make of the pattern, except that whoever did the bleeding got chopped up real good.”

That wasn’t the kind of penetrating analysis Winston was looking for.  He made his first executive decision.  “Okay, let’s seal this scene for now.”  He pointed at the second agent.  “Write down that ID number and put the bottle back where you found it.”  He headed for the door.  “Then I want everybody out.  Talk to your SAC, get me a serious forensics expert from Quantico ASAP.  I don’t care if he’s gotta kidnap him.” 

He stopped.  The two agents stood still, looking unhappy.  “Nothing against you guys.  But you’ve got plenty of other work to do on this, and we’re not cutting corner one.  C’mon.  Out.”

He returned up the beach, where the SAC was talking to some officers.  “The first body was over here,” said the SAC, walking toward some bushes.  “We’ve got two .22 cases.  The Deputy was shot twice in the head.  Not a lot of blood.  We’re getting foot and tire impressions now.”

The SAC stopped.  “The Sheriff’s office is plenty pissed off about this.”

Winston snorted.  “There’s a shock.  What do they want?”

“I think they want a piece of the bust.”

“Well, don’t tell’em we’re a helluva long way from a bust.”  He sighed.  “Be nice, but promise nothing.  Trust me, we’re gonna be up to our armpits in unhappy cops.”

He strode back to the car.  “C’mon.  I wanna see the bodies now.”
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Joel

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #2 on: January 22, 2007, 09:22:49 am »

I came to myself lying on a couch.  I looked around, panicked.  Where the hell…!

Vague memories came back to me.  I was in a house, and somewhat safe.  I sat up, too quick.  The room swirled around me, and I collapsed back into the cushions.  So weak!  But there was something urgent; something I was supposed to do.  I rolled to my knees on the floor, levered myself to my feet, and staggered across the room.  Instinctively I checked my holster.  The Kimber was where it belonged.  Good.

“Mister?”  A voice from the kitchen.  I stumbled into the little room.

A blond girl handcuffed to a chair.  Of course!

“Mister,” she said, her voice strained, “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

Oh, shit.  Did I really leave her there all night?  How much time had passed?

I struggled to focus my eyes.  “Did he…I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She was clenching her legs together.  “Please, mister!”

“Yeah…sure.  Sorry.”  There was a handcuff key in my pocket.  I released her and followed as quickly as I could while she sprinted to the bathroom.  She slammed the door.  I opened it a crack before she could lock it, but stood outside.  “Sorry,” I said.

No question of what she was doing; I could hear about a gallon of liquid headed for the plumbing.  Come to think of it, I had to go myself.

But there was something way more important than that.  Dear god, I almost killed that girl!

No, not me.  He almost did.  There really were two of us in here, and one of us was fucking up.  This had to stop.

Reeling a little, I crossed the small living room.  On the floor next to the couch was a syringe and a couple of little bottles.  The label on one read Morphine.  There was a pattern here.  Whenever I went away, it was because we were going into action.  Whenever I came back, he’d just shot me full of this stuff.  Maybe he didn’t know, or maybe he didn’t care.

I saw movement from the corner of my eye.  The girl had come into the room, against the wall, and was quietly sidling toward the front door.

“No,” I said.  “Come in here and sit down.  I promise I won’t hurt you, but you can’t leave yet.  We need to talk.”

Her face wary, she slowly moved to a stiff wooden chair in the corner and sat.

“Listen,” I said.  “You’ve got absolutely every reason in the world to hate my ass, and I’d be shocked if you didn’t.  But you don’t have to be afraid of me.  No matter what, I won’t hurt you.”

She said nothing, but her eyes skewered me.

“I know, I know.  I’m really sorry about last night.  Things got kind of crazy.”

She started to splutter.  “D’ya think?” she yelled.  “You did that to me, and now I’m supposed to believe you’re really some nice guy who was just having a bad night?”

I sat on the couch and faced her.  “Could you tell me, exactly, what I did?”

That stopped her.  “Huh?”

“Y’see, I don’t really remember.  Not very clearly.”

“You’re putting me on.”

“I wish.”

“I’ll give you the short version.  You drove a shot-up car in front of me.  You carjacked me, you stuck a gun in my face.  You broke into my house, and you left me chained to a chair all night!”

“Ah.”  Okay, I wouldn’t expect Christmas cards from her, or even the slightest cooperation.  But I’d feared there might have been worse that I’d forgotten.  “Okay.  I’m not sure what to do about this.  There’s no way I can make it up to you, and – this is going to sound weird – I’m not even sure how to get away from you.  I can’t hurt you, and I can’t just leave and let you go.  You make one phone call, and the cops’ll have me before I’m a block away.  Believe me, right now you could really get their attention.  So I’m stuck.”

I looked away and sighed.  “Of all the stupid things for him…for me to do.”

“That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

I looked at her curiously.  “Done what?”

“Talked like somebody else did it.”

“Oh.  Well, would you believe me if I told you somebody else did?” 

The look on her face was precious.  “No,” I said.  “I wouldn’t either.”

This was intolerable.  I didn’t dare turn my back on her for a second.  I didn’t think I could bring myself to cuff her back to the chair.  I was stuck!  There was no way out!

Frustrated, I stood up.  “Do you have a computer here?”

“A computer?  What for?”

“I want to show you something.  You at least deserve to know what this is all about.”

“Okay, I’ll buy that.”  She led me into a small room, furnished like an office.  She sat on the desk chair and booted up her desktop.  “What am I looking for?”

“Search ‘Berta Oltavak.’”  I spelled it for her.

A few dozen references came up, mostly outraged blogs and editorials from the sort of people who like to follow the latest SWAT screw-up.  “Pick one,” I told her.

She opened an editorial from one of the little political news sites and read the account.  She went back to the search screen and chose another.  I stood by the door and let her finish.  My legs started to tremble.  Why was I so weak?

Finally she swiveled in her chair.  “That’s terrible,” she said.  “But what’s it got to do with you?”

“We lived together,” I told her.  “If you read any mention that she was pregnant, that was our child.  If you read that the SWAT guys were looking for a man, that was me.  I wasn’t home.”  I looked down.  “I wish to god I had been.  Then this would be over, and she might be alive.”

I slid down against the wall.  “If you search for ‘Anchorage’ and ‘FBI’, you’ll find references to what happened next.  Look it up sometime, it’s probably great reading.  I did that.”  Spreading my hands, I said, “Only somewhere along the way I blew a fuse or something.  Now it’s like there’s this other guy, and he’s…not as scrupulous as I am.  He does crazy things.  That’s how you got involved.  For which, in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m really sorry.”

She smiled slightly, her tongue between her teeth.  “So…I’m supposed to believe you’ve got…what?  An evil twin?”

“Kinda like that, yeah.  Not that it makes any difference.  I didn’t have any right to do what I did to you.  In my right mind, I wouldn’t have done any of the crazy things I did last night.”

“So…what did you do?”

“Well, I came ashore in the FBI guy’s boat, and…”

“Whoa!  Not last night.  Before that.  What did you do after your girlfriend was killed?”

“Oh, that.  I killed a bunch of the SWAT guys who killed Berta.  I’m gonna get the rest, too, or die trying.”

She didn’t say anything for what seemed like several minutes.  I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I just sat there.  Finally she asked, “And what did you do before?  Why did they raid your house?”

Oh, sure.  Let’s really alienate Ms. Solid Citizen.  “Well…that’s kind of a long story.  Let’s just say I’ve always had a thing about cops.”
« Last Edit: January 22, 2007, 11:23:56 am by John DeWitt »
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Yet another Freedomista blog: The Ultimate Answer to Kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.

ShortyDawkins

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #3 on: January 22, 2007, 09:37:49 am »

Really good stuff, John. I'm totally engrossed.

Shorty
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penguinsscareme

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #4 on: January 22, 2007, 09:54:43 am »

Whatever you're taking, keep taking it.   :notworthy:
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O Lord,
Thine Ocean is so great,
And my boat is so small.

Sportos, motorheads, dweebies, wastoids...they think he's a righteous dude.

The utter waste of our $2,000,000,000 a day military-industrial machine was never demonstrated more vividly than on 9/11.

You do what works.

Dare2BFree

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #5 on: January 22, 2007, 11:41:06 am »

Whatever you're taking, keep taking it.   :notworthy:

yeah - what he said   ^_^
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da gooch

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #6 on: January 22, 2007, 03:32:02 pm »

DITTO ... Ditto ... ditto ...

Hey neat echo effect you got in here John.
Only ...

Where's here ?

Good stuff man.
Is this Chapter 1, page 1 ?

{did I miss any ? ? ? Where  ? ?}
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Joel

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #7 on: January 22, 2007, 03:39:38 pm »

Quote
Is this Chapter 1, page 1 ?

{did I miss any ? ? ? Where  ? ?}

This is the third snippet I've posted from a book I'm writing, the so-far-untitled sequel to Walt's Gulch.  Not serializing it here like I did the first part of the first one, just posting teasers.

This weekend I passed the 50,000-word mark, so looks like we've got us a convoy.

PS, the other two are Networks and Fugue State.
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da gooch

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #8 on: January 22, 2007, 03:43:05 pm »

Whaill keep on truckin' brother  I'm sold.
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Jac

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #9 on: January 22, 2007, 05:22:32 pm »

just posting teasers.
"Just posting teasers", he says... You can almost hear the smirk.

STOP TORTURING US, JOHN DEWITT! :angry:

:P
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I have never regretted that I chose to "take the red pill." But there are days, just rarely, when the truth is so ugly, so brutal, so unmerciful, so relentless, that even if I wouldn't rip the truth from the wall socket and hurl it out the window to crash on the sidewalk below, I wouldn't mind if it featured a snooze button so we could savor just a few more moments in slumbered pretension and warm, fuzzy lies pulled snugly up over our heads.
--PSM

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #10 on: January 22, 2007, 11:13:20 pm »


Call it The Book Of Lamentations. :P

I know, I know. I have a thing about titles I like. I carried micropiece around for 16 years.
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Rarick

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #11 on: January 23, 2007, 07:40:23 am »

Definately of interest- keep it comung.  If this is just a teaser for another book.......give a title?
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Most of the time news is about the same old violations of the first principles of consent and golden rule with a dash of force thrown in........ with just enough duct tape to be believable.

coloradohermit

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #12 on: January 23, 2007, 09:38:40 am »

Excellent. Can't wait for the book to come out!!  :drool:
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Joel

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #13 on: January 23, 2007, 10:07:48 am »


Call it The Book Of Lamentations. :P

I know, I know. I have a thing about titles I like. I carried micropiece around for 16 years.

Book of Lamentations was an idea I played with several years ago, a series of meditations on failed marriage.  You can guess my state of mind at the time.  I hope never to write it, because I hope never to be that depressed ever again.

The only part that survives is the first part of Walt's Gulch Chapter 3.

The title certainly doesn't fit the current book.  But I confess I'm having a hard time coming up with a good one.  The Gulches Strike Back just doesn't get it, y'know?
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Harleqwin

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Re: In which the God of War comes out to play...
« Reply #14 on: January 23, 2007, 08:44:10 pm »

AUUUUGGHHH!   tantalizing teasers of a story...that I really want to buy now  :mellow:

For a title, if it's all about Michael/George, well, why not just go with "Psycho killers are us"
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The 'ideal' America praised by so many is nothing more than smoke from the propaganda machine. At best it is an idealized abstraction, at worst a wall to rational thought -IKDR

"But there's nothing wrong with me,   This is how I'm supposed to be,   In a land of make believe,   That don't believe in me"
"To find what you believe,   And I leave behind,   This hurricane of fucking lies,    I lost my faith to this,   This town that don't exist" - Green Day
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