Back to the Rez…gotta let my Dad know I’m OK.
“It’s done Dad…all done.”
“Not quite boy…you can’t let anyone live who thinks “Duece” is still alive.”
“Been a lot of killing already Dad.”
"You have to think about those girls son.”
“I know…I know…just tired.”
"I’ll keep them here…your Mom and I will look after them…do what you have to do.”
“Do you trust me Dad?”
I head back to LA. Time to finish my biz.
Fuck me. Where’s my fucking bottle of Patron…be right back…that’s better. Let’s finish…
I call my bois. Tell them to meet me at the lab. I’m waiting outside when they show up. Make sure they see me go in. I’m out the back door and over the fence when the house blows.
Ruptured gas line and all of those chemicals make for one hell of an explosion. I’ve got witnesses to Deuce’s death. The bois are kind enough to pay for my funeral. The casket's empty. Fire marshal tells them I’m scattered all over the county. There’s no records anywhere for Duece…never got arrested. There just happened to be a body in that house when it blew…lucky me.
They assume…you get the idea.
I send a box of “Bibles” to BD’s wife. Should help out. One to Shawna’s Mom. Mahoney sees to it that the Rev’s and the Deputies’ deaths go down as a Columbian hit squad’s work over a drug deal gone south. Leaks info on how dirty they all were. Everyone figures the captain took off with the money. No one expects to find him. They never do…and never will.
My Dad takes me camping a month later. A lake we used to fish at a good distance from the mission. That’s where I scatter the captain’s ashes. I think my birth mother is finally at peace. I’m glad someone is.
That was twenty-four years ago. That fucking captain has a long reach. The county’s still fucking with me, and they don’t even know why. I found out a couple of years ago when I finally got a copy of my official personnel file. Must have been a civilian employee who made the copy. The cover sheet is a Xerox of a blank page with a square cut out. That’s code. It means that person no longer exists as a Deputy. Fuck him or her at every opportunity.
The people who meet me now assume I’m the paranoid asshole that I am because I’m a retired cop. They don’t know this story. If they did, they’d be sure they were right. They’d be wrong.
What happened to me started me 'e'etiin..down this path that stretches to the horizon. But it didn’t make me the way I am now. Working as a bodyguard did. Working for a man who started as a medical doctor in the OSS during World War II, and became the leader of a group that traces it’s history way, way back…all the way to the Garden of Eden. Call themselves, “Priests of the Morning Star.”
That’s when I met Thatcher…Mitterrand…Bush Sr. when he was VP. They all came to meet privately with my boss. The only one we went to see was Reagan at his ranch. Working for the “Good Doctor” was when I found out who killed JFK…RFK…Martin Luther King…and why.
When I learned that our fates are controlled by a small group of men who believe it is their divine destiny to bring the world to peace. But…that’s a story for another day.
I can tell you all about it, if you want.
If I live long enough…
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