by Bill Brewer
Fatima waited beyond the others, and her warm smile told Diegert that she was pleased. Also finding words difficult, she held out her hand, saying, “I’ll take that.”
Diegert handed her the gun and was placed in an ambulance. Fatima climbed in for the ride to medical. “I’m very proud of you.”
“Killing those men was pointless. I get that it is part of this process, but those guys being dead doesn’t accomplish anything.”
“It showed us who is the best new operator in the world.”
Diegert thought she sounded like a schoolgirl with her cheery assessment. She accompanied him to medical, where he got a shot of morphine and his thigh wound stitched up.
“One thing this did accomplish is the fulfillment of your training phase. You are no longer a trainee but an operator with all the rights and privileges ascribed to the role.”
“You mean I’ll be assigned to kill more people.”
“You’ll be an integral part of Crepusculous security.”
Snorting, Diegert said, “Yeah right. What about the 100K?” he asked while getting his head wound cleaned.
“That’ll be deposited in your account, but David there’s more where that came from. You will be well paid for completing missions.”
At the mention of money, Fatima could see she had Deigert’s attention.
“Eventually you can be assigned to a regional location and operate independently at Headquarters’ direction.”
“Now that sounds like a good thing so I can get the fuck out of here.”
“Right now, no one but Blevinsky can tell you what to do, and until assigned a mission, you can conduct yourself as you wish within the facility.”
“You mean I get to have a staycation.”
Fatima patted him on the forearm, saying, “I’ll see you around, but I won’t be coming to your room again to wake you in the morning.”
As she walked out of medical, Diegert still couldn’t deny the desire he had for her to come to his room for a completely unofficial visit.
With his wounds bandaged, Diegert returned to his quarters. Checking his numbered account, he found the additional 100,000 dollars was there. He now had over a quarter of a million dollars, more money than he could ever imagine. Transferring $167,000 to his mother’s account, he sent her a text:
Mom, I love you, and I want you to be safe, secure and happy. Use this money I transferred to your account to pay off the mortgage, so you own the house. The money was earned through hard work and determination, so you don’t have to ever worry about being without a home.
Love David.
THE END
Turn the page for a preview of
Book Two of The David Diegert Series
Blood of the Assassin
Available Late Fall 2019
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Blood of the Assassin
Preview of Book 2
1
Broward County Sherriff Michael Lowery pulled his Ford Explorer Interceptor into the lot of the Moose Jaw Inn. The bright colored lights of his vehicle remained off as he parked the white, black and gold SUV next to the rust accented Toyota Camry of Tom Diegert. Watching for the last customers leave at 2 am on a Wednesday, Sherriff Lowery knew where to find the man with whom he wanted to speak.
Standing with the bar door open, Tom Diegert leaned back and shouted past his son Jake, “Hey Brad.”
The bartender looked up from cleaning glasses.
“Hey, thanks for a really good time,” slurred Mr. Diegert.
“Right, Fuck you, Tom, just pay your full tab next time.”
“Hey, I gave ya what I could…”
“Come on Dad, let’s just go,” said Jake as he directed his father out the door and down the stairs.
“Christ, it was only one or two beers, I paid for the rest,” bitched the man in whose home David Diegert had grown up.
Jake tapped his father’s shoulder when he noticed the police truck parked next to theirs.
“Judas, what the fuck is he doing here now? He knows we’re going to be drunk. What the hell’s he doing, check’n?”
Straightening their gaits, they continued approaching their formerly gold-colored sedan. The paint had dulled to a tarnished beige with oxidized corrosion on the wheel wells and door jambs. Sheriff Lowery stepped out of the Interceptor. “Hello, Tom.”
“Evening Officer.”
“Morning, Tom.”
Tom nodded. He stood with his hands folded in front of him like a pious Quaker.
“I was hoping I could have a word with you two about David.”
“David?! I got a word for ya, Fuckin Bastard. That punk ass bitch up and left the family months ago. We don’t even know where the fuck he is.”
Lowery looked from Tom to Jake, who nodded agreement.
“What the hell’s going on? Why the hell are you out here in the middle of the night asking about that fucker?”
Lowery found himself a bit off guard, but he asked a critical question anyway. “Did you know that David joined the Army?”
Tom’s ruddy red cheeks blanched. He stammered to say, “No fuck’n way. He left a note saying he was leaving. He didn’t want to live with us no more. He never said he was joining the Army.” Looking at Jake, they both nodded. Jake spoke up, “He would’ve told me something like that. He was my brother.”
Lowery let that sappy, past tense, line pass. He knew neither of these two douche bags ever gave David any reason to trust them. He regretted asking the question, but the investigation into a violent incident in Austin required him to collect background information. He had to ascertain if these guys might be hiding the man wanted for questioning in the murder of a Mexican citizen outside a bar in Austin Texas.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Jake replied, “February.”
“Yeah right, it was cold as a bitch. Fuck’n snow everywhere,” added Tom.
Pushing for more information, Lowery asked, “What were the circumstances when you last saw him?”
“Aah, he was taking Denise to the doctor. He dropped her off and was long gone when she came out.”
Lowery’s suspicion intensified in the red glow of the Moose Jaw’s neon sign.
“He left a note,” blurted Jake.
“Yeah, it said he was sorry for being a fuck–up and he was going away,” shared Tom. “He didn’t say where, so I suppose he could’ve joined the Army once he ran outta money.”
“But you haven’t spoken to him since February?”
“Nope,” said Tom, shaking his head.
Lowery wanted to cut his losses with these losers, but Tom started asking questions.
“What kinda trouble is he in?”
“What makes you think he’s in trouble?”
“HA, You do. You’re not going to hang out here and talk to us in the dark unless something serious has happened.”
Lowery held his tongue, but he couldn’t stop staring at these guys. He knew what an abusive man Tom Diegert was, and Jake was complicit in the domestic domination and violence of the Diegert household.
“Sherriff, did David kill someone?”
The stoic lawman struggled to control his reaction to this blunt question. He also reasoned if they knew something, he might as well get it out of them now.
“A man was murdered in Texas, and David is a person of interest wanted for questioning.”
“Texas? He ain’t never been to Texas before,” exclaimed Tom.
“Who did he kill?” asked Jake.
“We aren’t sure he killed anyone. We just want to speak with him.”
“Down in Texas, is the dead guy a spick?”
Lowery glared at Tom, his features made all the more intimidating by the flow of red neon over his stony expression.
Tom retreated, “I mean if he killed a spick, that’s different then if it was a w
hite guy, right?”
Lowery could barely contain his rage as he listened to the ignorant bigotry of Tom, reinforced by the head nodding of Jake.
Bringing his 6 foot 4-inch frame closer to the squat man and his chubby son, Lowery handed them each a card. “The taking of any human life is murder. Please call me if he contacts you, we need to talk with him.”
“OK, Sherriff,” said Tom, “but if that bastard shows up, I’ll save Texas the trouble and just shoot him myself.”
Lowery’s anger popped. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a father. Whatever David may have done, you are culpable.” Stepping closer as his eyelids narrowed. “The hateful way you treated him sickens me. I should’ve arrested you a long time ago.”
A sadistic smile crept on to Tom’s face. “But you can’t, and you know it. You can’t do shit to me. Besides Jake here, is a fine son.” Broward’s local drug dealer smiled at the Sherriff as his father patted him on the back.
Looking at the pair with disgust, Lowery realized Tom was right.
“Get in your car and drive home. I’ll be following you.”
Tom gave the Sherriff an awkward salute before climbing in the Camry and letting Jake drive.
Driving the deserted streets of Broward with Lowery right behind him Jake thought back to when David was, maybe 12 years old. They had a chicken coop out back that was regularly being raided by a clever vixen. Tom wanted to kill the fox, but the persistent canid always eluded his 12 gauge attacks. Staying up late one night Jake sat in a blind near the coop. He watched as the bright red killer stole a chicken and ran into the woods. Following the thief, he discovered the lair where this young mother had a litter of kits.
Six baby foxes waddled out of a hole under a log and shared the bounty of chicken their mother had provided. Waiting until the mother left to hunt again, Jake dug out the pups, stuffing them in a canvas bag. In the morning he showed his father what he had. Tom was so proud of Jake. He beamed with his yellowed tooth smile as he gave the 16-year-old a can of beer for breakfast.
“You know what we’re going to have to do with them don’t ya?” asked Tom.
Jake sullenly nodded his head.
“I think you’ve done enough,” said Tom, “it’s your brother’s turn.”
Tom called David out to the barn. The kits had been dumped into a cardboard box. David looked in and saw the cutest little creatures he’d ever seen. The six of them huddled together, frightened in this strange place as they tried to comfort one another. Their big dark eyes peered from their tiny little faces with curiosity and trepidation. David knelt down, reached in and picked one up. The soft, warm body felt so small as it trembled in his hands. He gently stroked the fur on the top of its head as the bright orange bundle, with its little black paws, curled into his palm.
Tom stepped forward slapping David’s arms, sending the kit tumbling back into the box.
“These aren’t fucking pets.”
Falling back on the ground, David looked up at the rage on his father’s face.
“They’re our enemy.” Pointing across the barn at Jake who sat impassively blank-faced, Tom continued. “Jake captured them. He did an important thing for this family. You know the mother of these little runts has been killing our chickens. The fox is stealing our livelihood,” shouted Tom as he thrust his fingers at the box of babies. “Now we’re going to even the odds and reclaim our power by eliminating the enemy.” Striding between his two sons, Tom took center stage as he barked, “ Protecting the things your family needs to survive is the job of a warrior. Being strong, and not letting others take what you have requires guts and toughness. Jake stayed up all night to find the home of the thief and capture these terrible, vicious threats.” Tom leaned forward as he glared at David. “It’s now your turn to protect this family.”
Tom reached into the box grabbing each kit and stuffing them, squeaking and yelping, into the canvas bag.
“You’re going to kill them,” he commanded as he handed David the bag with the wriggling little bodies desperately clambering over one another. Their pitiful yelps and mews emanating through the fabric, made David cringe with despair.
“You can either drown them in the rain barrel like a pussy, or you can use the sledge on them.”
Tom hefted the sledge hammer and dropped it on the barn floor next to David.
“A warrior makes sure his enemy is destroyed. He takes the life of those who steal from him and does it with brute force. Those little pups will grow into thieving foxes. We stop that right now. Smash ’em and prove that you deserve to be part of this family.”
Jake felt sorry for his brother, David loved nature, he studied animals and knew way more about them than either he or his father. Killing animals was all Tom Diegert knew, and he took pride in any successful hunt. The Warrior stuff he was prognosticating about always came out whenever they so much as shot a squirrel. Still Jake was on the upside, and he remembered how there was no way he was going to let any sympathy for his brother cause him to act against his father.
“Stand up,” shouted Tom. David rose from the floor, quivering. The bag of wriggling little fox kits at his feet.
“Pick up the hammer and smash‘em,” ordered his father.
David hesitated, looking from the bag to the hammer.
“Don’t be a pussy like your Mom. These fuckers need to die.”
David placed his hand on the hammer. The sledge had a 36-inch wooden handle with a 10-pound octagonal head. He closed his fist around it, lifting it very slowly. Tom’s eyes widened with delight. David held the tool turned weapon in both hands. He looked at his father and saw wretched anticipation in the ugly man’s face. He saw the thirst for violence and the bloodlust the old man held for these infants of the forest. Broadening his stance, as he had been taught to do when chopping wood, David lifted the hammer, looking at the canvas bag with its little bodies struggling within. Holding the hammer aloft, he started to tremble, the hammer looked as though it was going to fall out of his hands behind him.
“Do it,” shouted Tom.
David’s tears broke over his lids, falling to the barn floor like the first drops of an unexpected rain shower. Turning away from the bag of pups, he dropped the hammer and broke into uncontrollable sobbing.
“Oh no you don’t, you wuss. You pick up that hammer, and you finish the job.”
David collapsed to the floor curling into a fetal position.
“Oh my fucking God,” exclaimed Tom. Turning to Jake, he said, “Can you believe this fucking pussy is crying like a little girl over these foxes?”
Jake recalled how bad he felt for David, but he just nodded his head.
“He is not the son of a Warrior. He’s an injun bastard, who doesn’t have the strength to protect his own family.”
Tom drew close to David, “You’re a no good pussy who doesn’t have the guts to kill his enemies. Well, you just keep your fucking eyes open.”
Tom stepped back grabbed the hammer swung it high and brought the ten-pound mall on to the canvas bag. The yips and mews turned into screeches of terror as blood stained the fabric. Tom swung the hammer, again and again, each blow ceasing the wriggling of the little bodies. After striking the bag a dozen times, the short, ruddy man panted as he paused. Seeing one body still moving he swung the hammer, flattening the bag, darkening the canvas with more blood.
David watched the massacre from eye level as he remained on the floor throughout the ordeal. Struggling to catch his breath Tom said, “You don’t deserve to be in this family since you aren’t willing to fight for it. I won’t forget that.”
Dropping a shovel in front of David, Tom said, “Since you’re so fucking sympathetic about these runts, you bury ’em.”
Leaving the barn with his father, Jake recalled feeling like shit, but glad that he was not the one his father hated. David took the shovel and the grisly cloth bag and disappeared into the woods for three days. Their mother, Denise went crazy not knowing where he was, but Tom didn’t ca
re. When he eventually returned, Tom didn’t say a thing, and Jake remembered David never confided in him ever again. As the years passed and David grew much bigger and stronger, Tom always sided with Jake, isolating David, so he had only the friendship of his Mother.
Reaching their driveway, Jake parked in front of the garage. He watched Lowery’s Explorer pass on by. Tom had passed out, so Jake reclined the seat and covered his father with the blanket he kept in the car for just such occasions. At the kitchen door, he stopped to look at the barn. He wondered if his father had really made a killer out of his brother.
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About the Author
Bill Brewer writes to entertain his readers. Using imagination and research, he creates compelling characters whom he thrusts into dangerous situations. Seeking to capture his reader’s attention, Bill sets a blistering pace and keeps the action coming as the plot explodes across the pages. The story reveals its secrets as the characters experience triumph, betrayal, victory and loss. While you’re reading, look for passages filled with anatomical detail that this University Professor of Human Anatomy & Physiology uses to bring realism into his story. When not writing or teaching, Bill can be found seeking adventure, peace and camaraderie, hiking, biking and paddling near his home in Rochester NY.
