Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy

by R. E. Schobernd

  After emptying the cup, he stood by the deer carcass and carved off a small chunk of meat. The meat was firm, and chewier than he had anticipated, but not at all bad tasting.

  Joe stepped over to the deer and said “Eat up; this is all you get for breakfast. The whole point of this exercise is to show how you can live off the land for weeks; and exist without building a fire or firing a shot. Chances are you will never need to do it, but if the occasion should arise, remember: you can live a long time on animal meat, raw fish, bugs and some native plants. You don’t even need much water if you can drink enough fluid from other animals. In this business you’ve entered into you can quickly go from being the hunter to being the hunted. Don’t ever forget how quickly your roles can change.”

  After both men had eaten what they wanted, Joe untied the rope suspending the deer, let it drop to the ground and returned the rope to his backpack. Before moving on, they carried the carcass about fifty feet and laid it behind a fallen tree trunk, out of sight.

  Having again donned their backpacks, the two men continued following the animal trail. The darkness had given away to lighter shadows cast by the rising sun, still hidden behind the taller mountains. After a quarter mile walk they came upon a small stream running through the valley. Joe dropped the young deer he had been carrying and gutted it near the edge of the stream. Clay washed both hands and his left sleeve up to the elbow to remove the blood. The small deer was suspended from a tree to skin the carcass, and then washed in the clear cold stream. Cutting enough meat from the carcass for their supper, he wrapped it in cheese cloth and butchers paper, before carrying all the waste over to an area of dense weeds growing in an area open to dappled sunlight. The scraps, bones, and hide were tossed into the middle of the weeded area off the normal pathway. Joe spent the remainder of the day teaching Clay more about the art of camouflage, how to move silently thru the dense forest and discussing edible plants and insects.

  Early in the evening after the last day of training Joe and Clay were sitting in the living room in front of the fireplace, reminiscing and saying their good byes. Joan was in the training building cooking supper.

  Joe paused while taking a swallow of beer, “Joan will drive you back to the airport to your car in the morning. I want to emphasize several pieces of advice, even though we’ve already discussed all of them at least once.”

  “First, no drinking or drugs before or during a hit; stay focused on the job at hand. You wouldn’t believe how many men I’ve seen who need to have a few stiff drinks before a hit. Second, know when to postpone and regroup when conditions aren’t right. Follow your instincts; they’re usually right on. Third, know when to quit when the job is beyond salvaging. Sometimes it just isn’t worth the risk. If the job is impossible to complete, admit it to your self and move on; don’t take unwarranted risk. Fourth, pay attention to details, details, details. And last, but above all else, don’t get involved personally with the victim.”

  Clay watched and when Joe finished his beer, got up and went to the kitchen for two more. Sitting back down across from Joe he said, “I can’t believe how fast the time has gone bye since I came here. I really appreciate what you’ve taught me. I sense a lot of the material was from your actual experience; it wasn’t just book training you had received earlier. Several times I could feel how difficult it was for you when you were recalling particular tactics. I thought those memories likely led you to leave the CIA. What I’m trying to say is I value the effort you’ve put into passing this information on to me, even though I understand you don’t really want me to use it the way I’m going to.”

  “You’re very perceptive” Joe replied, as he opened his fresh beer. Then, after taking a long swallow he continued, “And, yes I have taught you a few things the agency doesn’t use in their training. And, yes some disturbing memories were resurrected by those actions. If you had been in the Agency when I was younger and at my peak I would have asked to have you as my partner. You’re very good at all of this.” Joe shifted in his chair and for several seconds stared into the flames of the fire burning in front of him. Clay remained silent, watching this man who, in his eyes, was larger than life struggle with what he was about to say.

  “What you’re embarking on is a very lonely life. I doubt you’ll be able to have a wife and family and continue this line of work. There will be too many secrets in your everyday routine to have intimate relationships. It was different with my wife because what I was doing was legal and in the interest of national security, or so I was told.

  “I mentioned once before how the people I worked for know what I'm doing, but don’t approve of it. They only allow me to continue because from time to time they have need of some very low-level grunts of the type I provide training to. They would not condone the level of training I’ve passed on to a person of your aptitude, mainly because of what you intend to do with the skills you’ve learned. They don’t want highly trained killers preying on the public, primarily because of the negative publicity it would generate. But, I did it for the money. I shot your sponsor an extremely high price, thinking he would hang up; but I underestimated him. I didn’t think anyone would pay thirty thousand dollars for a months training. When I reach the dollar amount I feel is needed to retire I‘ll shut down all of the training, sell this place, and move to another area my wife and I have picked out. I’m very close to my magical number, and in the next year or so I anticipate making the move.”

  “You told me one night about your criteria for accepting jobs; you will only consider people involved in crime. I believe you, and am trusting in what you told me. How are you going to handle keeping this part of your life from your family?"

  “I’ve been thinking long and hard on how to do it. Soon, I’ll need to move out of their house and be on my own. Also, I need to find a business where I can be free to travel and create my own schedule as a cover.”

  Joan came in carrying a pan of food and asked, “Which one of you is going to get the rest of our supper from the kitchen and bring it over to the house?”

  The next morning, after breakfast, Clay shook hands and said goodbye to Joe, then got in the truck for the ride back to Knoxville. They made small talk for a short time and then both fell silent. After riding for an hour Clay turned to Joan.

  “The day we met, after we got off the bus, you asked me who I am, and what I’m doing here. I’ve thought a lot about those questions even before you asked them. I guess the only answer I have is I’ve changed a lot in the last several years. Changed enough for my values to have modified from what they were that short time ago. Tragic events occurred and they caused me to see things from a different perspective than I had previously. I arrived at where I am now because I chose to get involved. At any point I could have chosen to stay uninvolved. Instead, I decided to ruin the legitimate, but insignificant career I had, and instead of finding another low paying line of work I proceeded to be a professional killer. The reason I did is because I discovered I’m good at it, and the moral issues don’t prevent me from accepting and living with the results. I also discovered I can exist in this sub-culture in spite of the view of society in general, and their attempts to eliminate it. The thing making this new found way of life acceptable is I can draw a line between people who are, say a serial killer, and what I intend to do. A serial killer attacks people for the pleasure of killing and chooses innocent people to harm. The act against the people I’m paid to kill brings me no personal pleasure. It’s just business. The targets are guilty of criminal acts, and are not innocent victims. The reason I am telling you this is because during the last month I’ve developed a great respect for you and Joe, and I hope you don’t think too badly of me."

  Joan replied while keeping her eyes on the road, “I married Joe when I was seventeen and he was twenty; we both were young and innocent back then. I watched him advance in the Army and then in the C.I.A., and I assured myself what he was doing was justified because he was serving the interest of our country
. I watched him change and then have to reconcile what he was doing, and what he had become, with the man he still was deep down inside. The problem I have with you is I see a copy of Joe. You’re going against society’s laws and telling yourself it’s justified and you have the right to do it. But I watched as my husband came to accept what he was doing was not morally acceptable to him. Slowly a piece of him began to die each time he fulfilled an assignment. You can’t imagine how he suffered and struggled to come to terms with himself; the sleepless nights and self examination he went through should not be borne by anyone. I don’t want you to go there.”

  A car cut in front of the pickup , and Joan tapped the brakes while cussing the aggressive driver. They were getting into heavier traffic, so she stopped talking and concentrated on driving. Once they were stopped inside the airport parking lot she continued talking, “During the time you’ve been with us Joe and I have grown fond of you too.” Joan laughed and continued, “In spite of sometimes being a smart assed, cocky kid.” Reaching toward Clay, Joan placed her hand on his left shoulder, “We like you, and having gone through this already, I just would like to make you see what is very likely to happen to you later on. I’ll stop preaching to you and just hope you quit before you get too hardened; or before your spirit dies and there isn’t enough of your soul left to care anymore.”

  The truck was parked in front of the space where Clay had parked his car the month before. Joan opened the door and helped him get his gear loaded in the trunk. When Clay closed the trunk lid Joan gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek, “Good luck Joseph, use what my husband taught you wisely and be careful. You’ve chosen a very dangerous occupation and I wish you well. I hope you remember all of the things Joe and I have both tried to caution you about; and I pray you’ll see the warning signs early enough to save yourself.”

  Clay tried to laugh off the warnings by saying, “Come on Joan, stop being so gloom and doom about all of this. It’s a job, nothing more or less. Just a job. I’ve enjoyed meeting you and Joe, and I’ll remember both of you as long as I live.” Clay was facing her and continued in a serious tone, “Thanks for watching over me like a mother hen. I appreciate it”. Joan kissed Clay on the cheek again, “Good by and good luck Joseph, you’re going to need it.” She then turned and walked away without looking back.

  Joan got in the truck and drove away from the lot while Clay stood watching her. After contemplating her solemn attitude, he finally shrugged it off for the moment, got in his car, and made his way toward Chicago.

  Once he was out of Knoxville and on Highway 75, he settled in for the drive ahead of him. As he drove, Clay kept reflecting on the ominous warning Joan had laid on him. He still had bouts of uneasiness and inner qualms about admitting, even to himself, the harsh reality of the course of action he was pursuing. Killer! Murderer! Assassin! These titles were the lowest and harshest characterizations to describe what he was willing to be. And it didn’t bother him. Joan had described in clear detail what he would become. And still it didn’t bother him.

  “I have one big factor in my favor, Clay rationalized, I know exactly who my targets are and why they are being eliminated. Joe simply had a name, a picture and a directive issued due to a political reason. I don’t think I’ll develop the emotional problems Joe has, but if I do, I can also quit and do something else, just like Joe.”

  Pushing all of the emotional concerns out of his thoughts, he focused on contemplating his next moves during the remainder of the all day drive.

  A major decision needed to be made. How could he create a legitimate day job and allow his schedule to be totally flexible, while providing him with a cover for his illegal income? He had thought about starting a small construction business, but it wouldn't allow the freedom he required. He would need to be there daily to manage it or the business would fail. Most other types of small businesses had the same problem. He was close however, to finalizing another option; buying and selling antiques. It wouldn’t be lucrative, but could pay for itself.

  A year earlier he had dated a girl for several months whose parents collected antiques; antique furniture, glassware, pottery and the like filled their house. Clay discovered he had a fonder appreciation for those old things than for their late model daughter. When he grew bored of having sex with her and with listening to her incessant talking, he gently broke off the relationship; but continued visiting with her parents. His continued acceptance by her parents offended her more than their break up. In a few months he had learned all the parents could teach him about antiques and continued to learn on his own.

  He had started hanging out at antique shops and auctions, and attending antique shows when they were held within two hundred miles. He began to learn prices of a wide range of items he liked, as well as the trade jargon. During the week he started a routine of going to yard sales early in the morning in hopes of getting the best items available; before they were bought up by other professional pickers. He soon developed his skills in buying, and of necessity, in reselling to antique shops whose owners didn’t have the time or inclination to do the buying themselves. He had started to earn almost enough money to cover his monthly expenses when he took the job in Memphis.

  With the Memphis money he had added to his bank account and his vision of an antique shop, he felt he was developing a viable business plan. Even if it only broke even the business would provide a tax shelter for his real livelihood and would provide legitimate reasons for him to be away for extended periods. But, he would need to find a suitable store front in a good location and hire help he could depend upon to run the shop while he was away.

  Clay arrived home late Sunday afternoon and carried his bags downstairs to his room. He was in time for supper with the family, and learned Walter Jr. and Hazel were stopping by to eat with them. During supper, after numerous questions about his job hunting trip, he steered the conversation to his step-brothers new Oldsmobile and then excused himself from the table.

  The following months were uneventful, but busy. Clay continued his routine of buying items at yard sales, auctions, and antique shops. He rented a double car garage from an elderly woman who was unable to continue driving; she had advertised it for rent in the classified section of the evening newspaper. There he began to store the best of the antiques he was finding. He also found older guns to be available, and accumulated seven semi-autos he could eventually use. His skills at identifying good articles and dickering for a low price were improving to the point where some of the antique shop owners almost cringed when they saw him approaching their businesses. The early morning hours of the new antique venture dictated a change in the rest of his routines, forcing him to switch his work outs at the club to mid mornings and afternoons.

  Chapter 16

  On a Friday evening in July he received a call from Tony. He had only phoned Clay at home on three occasions, and all three of them related to work. This time it was different. And Tony was so excited he was almost hysterical.

  “Guess what? I did it. I really fucking did it.”

  “What do you mean, you did it? Is this a good did it, or a bad did it?”

  “I finally bought the big white yacht I've been telling you about wanting. Let’s go for a boat ride tomorrow, O.K.? It’ll be just me and you and the boat out on Lake Michigan.”

  “O.K. What time?”

  “Tomorrow morning at nine. It’s being delivered today to the Illinois Yacht Club up near Zion. The boat dealer arranged for a one year membership with the sale and gave me three driving lessons already. See ya in the morning. Ha! Why don’t you drive over here and pick me up so we can talk while we ride there together. Come by at eight. Damn it kid, you aren’t gonna believe this beautiful fucking boat.”

  “Does it have a name yet?”

  “Sure it’s got a name. I christened her “Chi Lady. You know, C-H-I like in Chicago Lady”

  “O.K. Tony, I’ll see you in the morning at eight.”

  The next morning Tony was standing
outside on the porch waiting when Clay drove up the driveway. Once inside the car Tony babbled on and on about the new boat. Clay had never seen him like this. He was like a kid on Christmas who just opened the biggest, reddest, greatest fire engine in the world.

  “This boat is the Cadillac of boats Clay. It’s got twin diesel engines; and wait till you see the Grand Saloon. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s called a salon, but to me it sounds better if it’s called something I can relate to. I’m from saloon people not the salon crowd."

  As they approached the yacht club parking area Tony directed him to drive to the far end of the parking lot to a gate where an attendant was on duty, wearing cute little white shorts and a jaunty sailor’s cap. Tony flashed a pass at her and she smiled widely at both of them as she raised a gate arm to let them pass. Following the directions he was given, Clay drove down a pier with the biggest yachts he had ever seen on both sides of him. “Tony, these aren’t boats, these are God damn ships!!! Some of those must be a hundred feet long!”

  “Well, mine isn’t as big as some of these, but it’s the best looking. Look! There it is. Over there, on the left.”

  Tony was right. It wasn’t the biggest but it was the best looking, hands down. Not that it was small either. “How big is it, fifty feet?”

  “Sixty three feet; isn’t she the sleekest thing you’ve ever seen? Hurry up and park over there in one of those spaces reserved for slip fifty one.”

  Standing on the dock at the stern of the ship Clay couldn’t help but exclaim, “Damn Tony, you’re right, you really did it. Congratulations Skipper."