Traffic and Revenge.

the gun i wish i had is quivering in my hand right now, my violence and rage is overpowering and intoxicating, but what if the coin was flipped, what if i couldn't do anything about it, what if it actually played out like this:

The door opens a crack and a soft, mildly upset voice passes through with deceptive ease, "Has anyone seen Nikki?"

I'm sitting on the floor across from my roommate, playing cards, leaning on our bunks. The voice outside belongs to David, one of Nikki's best friends here at the house. He's never really this timid, that's why he and Nikki hit it off. The outgoing people here found each other quickly and spent lots of our group's free time together. I glance at my watch and look up at David, "No, when was the last time you talked to her?"

"She told me after lunch that she was heading downtown to buy a new shirt or something."

It's almost 8 o'clock in the evening. San Francisco is getting dark about now, towering buildings blotting out the sun in the heart of the city, this fine August night.

"Asher, it's almost 8."

"I know David." He's starting the freak me out the more I look at him, watching his expressions change, quickly becoming more and more panicked. "I'm sure she's here somewhere, just keep asking around."

"I've already checked with everyone else."

My heart skips a beat. I feel a chill ripple through my arms and I accidentally drop a couple cards. Derek, my roommate, is none the wiser, and I can see the same wave coming over him.

Here at our group house in San Fran, all of us know all too well what might have happened to Nikki. There are about 25 of us students from around the country studying human trafficking and how to spot it, report it, and take it down. Our high blood pressure is well warranted right now. Every night prostitutes line the streets in certain districts of the city.

Derek and I stand up in a split second and David steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He lowers his gaze and slowly looks up at us, saying, "we need to go find her."

"How the hell do you expect us to do that?" Derek's voice almost cracks, "None of us know our way around here."

A second of silence gives the weight of this situation a little bit more time to etch itself into our collective psyche. Shallow breaths scrape from each of us in raspy turns. I want so badly to panic. And then I just want to be armed. Then I wish I had a car. And, again, a gun.

David breaks the tense stillness, "there are already a couple people on board and willing to go look for her. Nate and Mike and Ernest. But obviously none of them brought their cars."

The three of us stand in a tight cluster at the center of the room. I'm probably stepping all over our card game. I don't give a damn at this point.

"David, maybe we could call the cops."

"Derek, that's insane, they'd be nearly useless. Unless they have a trafficking unit... Okay, we won't rule that out, but let's get other people on board first."

David turns and opens the door and the three of us shuffle out, looking for anyone else with an open door. Mike, Nate, and Ernest come up the stairs, huffing. They must have been running through the whole house. Mike stops a few feet from us, "guys, the Professor's calling the cops. They should be here in a few minutes."

David turns on him, "Why would they need to come here, Mike, huh? Nikki's downtown and needs them there!"

Mike is taken back with David's tone and clears his throat, "Dave, they're gonna take a couple of us downtown to look for her, see if she's just lost."

Nate tries to level out the situation, "Dave, do you know exactly where she was going? Like, what store, what district?"

David looks like he's tripping over his own thoughts. He closes his eyes, saying through gritted teeth, "Macy's, by Union Square."

That's not too bad, I'm thinking. Then I remember Union Square is actually a park. As big as a downtown block, and pretty shady at night. Frankly, it's downtown San Fran--it's not really that safe anytime during the day. I grab David by the shoulder and push him toward the steps, "guys, let's get down there and do what we can. Grab water bottles or blankets and stuff them in a bag. Depending what... well... Nikki may need..."

I don't need to finish my sentence. Since Monday we've heard people speak of the terrors of being hand-cuffed to bed-posts for weeks at a time, laced with drugs enough to sterilize a cow. It only takes about a day or so to get girls addicted to any drug you give them. Nikki's no exception. She's an attractive blonde with a thin frame and long legs. It wouldn't take much of anything to render her senseless. My adrenaline races and I push past them all, yelling at them to go to their rooms and grab something helpful. My yelling causes a couple other doors to open in the upstairs bedrooms.

As I get downstairs, ignoring questions and calls from the others upstairs, I find the Professor waiting by the front door. He stands alone, fidgeting, his cell phone at the ready. In my blurred state of vision right now it looks like he may be packing under his jacket. But for all I know it's just the influx of adrenaline that's causing these visions.

"Asher, hey, are you okay?" He looks concerned.

"Nikki's missing. No I'm not okay. When are the cops getting here?"

"Just a couple minutes."

"We're almost ready to go."

"To go? Asher, you're not going anywhere. The police are just getting a description and a couple photos."

"The hell? Yes, I have to go. David has to go! Mike said they'd take us to help look for her."

"No, not anything like that. We can't get involved."

"Mike wouldn't lie about that, Professor."

"I'm sure he misunderstood or something."

Mike and the others show up behind me.

The Professor turns to him, "Mike, what made you think you all were going with the police?"

"Professor, uh... you said you'd have us ready for them to pick up when they got here."

Everyone looks confused, my heart rate's going insane. Would someone please make a definite statement soon!

The Professor extends his hand, holding an envelope containing a few photos. Outside, we can see red and blue flashes growing brighter. There's no siren, or maybe there is, but I can't focus enough to hear it if it's there. "Mike, I told them I'd have these pictures ready for them to pick up."

Mike and David nearly collapse.

"I'm sorry, but no one here is going with them."

Ernest blurts out, "But Nikki's out there! We don't know if she's okay! Professor, we're the only ones who know anything about her, about the way she walks, what she looks like, what she might be wearing! The cops need us out there! Nikki needs us!"

The Professor's eyes flash with anger and anxiety and in a cold, thinly masked wavering tone, "I know. The cops don't work that way, and we don't have any jurisdiction to see if we could find her in another person's house or business." He pauses and I can see a vein bulging on his neck. "Guys, I need you to help calm everyone else down right now. The cops will do the best they can out there. The law only allows them to conduct searches anyway. We can't break laws trying to find lawbreakers... That's just not how this works."

"That's bull!" Did I really just say that? The skin over my knuckles seems tight and stretched. God, is this really happening?

"Asher, calm down. There's nothing else you can do right now. If any of you want to pray, that would be great, and for those that don't, I need you to stay calm. Nothing can get done without--"

Someone's knocking on the door. The yellow light from the lamps in the room is intermittently over-powered by red and blue hues flashing almost as fast as my pulse.

The Professor walks to the door and opens it with a shaking hand. Two uniformed officers step in. The looks of apathy smeared across their faces disturbs me. You don't know what you're doing, do you? You little pricks can't do anything with that lack of concern! Just give me your damn badge and gun. I'll do your job better.

"Hello Professor, What was Nikki wearing?"

David steps forward, "A green jacket and um... these blue jeans with little swirlies of gold and red or pink or something. Her sister Sandra, she made them for her last year, she..." David drops his eyes, "Take me with you, officers, I can spot her from a mile away."

"I'm afraid we can't do that, sir."

David seems to be convulsing. "She's my best friend. You have to understand."

"There are ways we can and cannot go about things. We can't take you with us. You just have to trust us."

"Find her. Find her, officers." He raises his eyes to meet the taller officer's, catching him off-guard. "Find her tonight, or expect that I'll be joining the search first thing tomorrow."

"You can't do that, sir. That's not in your jurisd--"

"Damnit! Don't tell me what I can and cannot do."

I'm not sure, but I think I could absolutely expect David to take someone's life for Nikki. These cops better know how serious this is to us.

David's not done, "Find her tonight. You don't want to have to deal with all of us if you don't."

I am expecting some sort of confrontation from the cops right now, but for some reason, these two seem to get the point, and instead of anything further said to aggravate David, they simply say:

"Green jacket, blue jeans with colored swirls. We'll do our best."

The Professor closes the door behind them and I ponder how trite and half-ass that statement always sounds: "We'll do our best."

Will you, really? Cause I'm sure I could do better.

I am told to return to my room. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I notice David's as frozen as I am. Someone is trying to urge us both to move and head upstairs. Eventually the hand on my shoulder loosens its grip and I and David are left alone in a silent, tense, pulsating foyer. My ears are throbbing.

The gun I wish I had is quivering in my hand right now, my violence and rage is overpowering and intoxicating...

Find her. Get her here safe. Bring her captors to justice. Or I, and most likely David, will seek revenge. Every one of those creeps deserves a full clip of hot lead in them.

It seems like hours before I release my muscles and try to walk away from the foyer. David is still standing there, motionless, when I close the door to my room. I look at Derek and catch his eye. We don't have to say anything. We're on the same page.

As I lay down and Derek kills the lights, I stare blindly up at the ceiling. Just a few thoughts running through my head:

Find her. Get her to safety. Bring her captors to justice.
Find her.
Save her.
Now.

one hundred wonderful things that will never work out

someday soon i'll just do it
just bite the bullet
take the verdict
to hear the truth that's been so pensive

i'll walk into your house
sit down across from you
fold my hands in front of me
and look at you in perfect seriousness
and i'll ask you out
and you'll say 'no'
and i'll ask you why
and you'll say so...

you'll give me reasons
things i can change
and others i cannot
i'll feel like crap
but i won't make you feel the same

i'll untangle my fingers from each other
and shakily shake your hand
i'll say 'thank you', rise from my chair
take my leave, and step out for some air.

standing on your porch
i'll give you exactly
one hundred nineteen seconds
without me

i'll wish that i smoked
and then i'll wish i had something to smoke
like a newport or a marlboro
they say i look like a camel light guy

but as i stand there alone
aggravation and a red face
i'll come slowly around to contentment
i'll think of you inside
you're one of my best friends, you know

i'll take a puff of the tobacco-less air
and make a list of one hundred wonderful things
that will never work out

and at the top of the list will be you and i
and at the bottom will be carving up Mars into apple pie

and realizing solemnly that it ain't that bad
i'll turn from my reverie and reach for the door

put out the cigarette never really in my hand
take a drag of the air and of God and of peace in the land

and when i come back in
you'll probably be laying down with the TV still on
maybe you've turned the volume back up

i'll say hey and drop my keys and wallet by the door
grab some cookies and fill my cup
and sink into my seat

we'll watch Mind Of Mencia like nothing had passed
we're back to normal again, sister
laughing with a really funny guy named Carlos
and i like it this way

i know that what i write here
i'll never ever say some day

it just helps me to write it
to picture it this way

knowing nothing could ever go wrong
as long as this is how it stays

in fact you'll probably never hear any word
or mention of this from me
i'll fail to ever tell you myself
how much i really do care about you
i know it won't work
but there's other things that don't either
apple pie in the sky among them

and i know that life rolls that way
i can roll with that too
thanks for your patience
i can really assure you
that these feelings are gone
by the end of a South Park or two

thanks for who you are
thanks for your coolness
and for not letting me slip away
no matter how many other people you bring into your life

in fact that's all i believe i ever worried for.
peace be with you, sister
and thanks for keeping me close by.



[photo from hamada's photostream on flickr.com]

that that don't kill me (pt.2) (content warning)

a collage of evil men and a woman with an iron grit.
a collage with nothing left to give but a fight against the evils.

Geneva turns us down, and we're almost arrested before heading out the back door. so now it's not just our governments chasing us down, but the International Criminal Court, as well.

the very thing we're trying to help is now hunting us down. we figured it would.

it takes little time before we're back on track, and flying over the border into Serbia for our first trip, strapped up to our chins with ammunition. even Maggs is packin on our bouncy chopper ride. just a magnum, but it'll do. she's only fired it about seven and a half times, but we're hoping she'll never have to play the shooter. all the flak should be coming our way and not hers.

the thing we're all thinkin, especially Valentino, is that either way we play this, we all end up the same. it's kinda like an attempt at atonement. an attempt that we already see the rejection stamp ominously on. but for Maggs, she's got a clean slate except for whatever crimes she's just racked up in the past year alone. nothin in her past to make her a choice cut for any administration. nothin in my past to keep me from being anything but a choice cut.

Serbia goes well. well enough. three of us are licking our wounds, and Emil finds it strange to be capturing half the men he used to play poker with. we learn pretty quickly of head-hunters dispatched from several federal organizations. CIA, NSA, and even an extended detail from within the Secret Service. no word yet on Russia's response to our rouse.

maybe they figured they've taken enough. the Czar's washed his hands of us.

three months into the job we've turned over 72 war criminals from five continents and the focus shifts.

there's one continent left where criminals are hiding out.

the most difficult this far, since they're surrounded by cameras, guns, over-zealous animals in a patriotic haze, and the two of them are almost never in the same place. when they were in office, it was official policy to keep em separate for "national security", but as of now, they're just runnin scared.

they're the reason a couple of us and our buddies got off easy. we're grateful, but we're also the only ones who've really changed. we figure now their time is up. the world's waited long enough to see them come to justice.

thanks to them i am scarred. my marriage failed. my children deserted me. my country scorned me. but over half of the country still supported the ones who sanctioned us. f----- double standards!

---

"this is going to be tougher than anything, ladies and gentlemen. I've been dying to get this done, people. it's been several decades since i found out the office that was to blame. the torture bill overturned was the last straw, back in '08. that's how long i've been waitin for this, guys." Valentino's got his crowd's attention. we've got some vague clue of who he's talking about.

Maggs runs her fingers up and down on tee sharp edge of the steel beams supporting the caving ceiling of the warehouse we've made our haven, in Israel. (where better to hide than the country they'd never invade?) this is hitting her pretty hard. she blames these guys for the disappearance of her brother. makes sense to me.

just like Charlize Theron's Stella, this one's pretty personal for her.

we found a lot of the other administration in hiding around the world (ironically a couple were in our new shack). they'd scattered once they realized someone was having success in hunting their kind down.

(it sucks that we've had to kill so many unknowing amateurs who've been conned into protecting devils, but it's sometimes the only way to finish the job. it's not like this is anything new for us. just sad that the demons just get prison and their lackeys get the grave)

and now the last two are making their haven in the bed of vipers, still. latest intel would have us believe so.

it's kind of hard for us to all put everything into this, because once this is done, we can't think of anyone else to go after. the ICC's already in the middle of tens of tribunals and trials. anonymous "drop-offs" started filling their quota a long time ago.

they've finally got some bite, and for the most part, nobody seems to laugh at them anymore.

except for these two.

Emil pipes up, "Valentino, you know what happens when we finish this, right?"

Cal picks it up: "they'll bury the truth. call it a freak accident or a stroke."

"not once we get Al-Jazeera to air our live feed," Maggs says coldly.

"our what?" I'm thrown off a bit here.

"our live feed," Valentino continues, "Maggs will cover us and give a couple of us cameras on our headlamps when we're in the bunkers. she's gonna be using the same signal strength that allowed these two pigs their satellite TV when the world first threatened their empire on 9/11. Al-Jazeera will air it around the world, both Arabic and English, and right now we're still looking for additional networks based off the continent. but Al-Jazeera's a pretty safe bet there won't be anything like a sort of censorship."

"the media was once about truth." Maggs stares all of us down, in turn. "it's what ruined my brother, back when they'd fully gone shoddy on us. now that the west has effed everything up, we've got a little bit of hope outside our normal borders, gentlemen."

i remember that Al-Jazeera was the one that knew everything about everything going on outside the western world. and now they really were going to be a weapon against the west. it wasn't something any of us naturally tended to like. we liked our homes and safe suburbs at one point. but i guess that's all changed on us, so we might as well bite back.

the questions and straight-forward, strong answers keep coming, back and forth for a bit.

then Valentino excuses himself, and slips out of the room, leaving us in an awed, excited, breathless tension. i look over at Maggs, who's beaming.

"you sure you're not a little over-confident about all this?" Miller asks her.

"yeah, i've been working on this little network thing a lot longer than any of you can imagine." cool as ever, our wonder woman dispels our fears.

we're left in another silence as each of us contemplates what comes next. right about the time it should be getting awkward, our SOA brother walks in with his hands behind his back, and a smile bigger than Maggs'.

"gentlemen, the preparation for this will take us several months of cold, hard work. we've got a lot of research and planning to do. these two guys won't just be sitting on their a---- waiting for us. undoubtedly they know they're next. some would think they're old news, but we all know that an old crime is still a crime. at least in the US."

he pauses. for some reason it's kinda comforting. even if this is the last thing we ever do during our natural lives, and even if heaven won't take us, we're gonna do what we can for what we believe in.

"since there's not much good news waiting for us in the next months, or at the end of all this, so we thought we'd invest in a little something that appreciates in value, that'll give us some incentive."

he brings forth a bottle of '49 champagne. it's a fitting year, '49.

we erupt in muffled applause and Maggs laughs for the first real time since i opened the door for her back at our steakhouse meeting. she thought me still a gentlemen, even though she was the one who knew my record the best. she had access to all our files on the same hard-drive as that of the targets.

it's a strange and totally perfect atmosphere that's ushered in by a bottle filled in the greatest year in human rights history.

Maggs hands us each an identical dossier with everything the US government has on our next two guys.

their pictures make my blood boil, for what they made me do at Abu Ghraib:














Valentino raises the bottle high in the spirit of August 1945, "we'll toast to justice the night before we go in!"

for only seven of us, the cheering and applause is deafening. my heart thunders.

that that don't kill me (pt.1) (content warning)

--a narrative of pain and failed efforts--

part.one

we started this league about a year or so ago. freelance sting operations. a couple ex-black-ops, some KGB defectors, and some old-school gangstas. and one smokin hot computer genius!

it was a little project we devised one day as we met together at a steakhouse. poring over my extra rare slab of expensive meat, i suddenly became nauseous. an image from a stint in Iraq popped into my head. musta been somethin about the redness of the meat on the dirtying plate before me.

Maggs looked at me strangely as i choked a little bit.

i tried to give her, and the rest of the crew, a look tellin em i'm good, but all i end up doing is glare right into their hearts. i get that way when i remember the actions of the others around me at Abu Ghraib.

"Mark, you alright, man?" Cal gives me the same look i used to get from my family, when i first got back. i want to punch him.

my stomach heaves again, and the six others around the table start panicking.

"Mark you better get movin, bro!"
"you look messed up."

i make a break for the can and my head screamed at me as i hobbled along between tables of calm patriotic citizens oblivious to everything that slowly enabled our heads of state to pull out of the UN. my knife and fork clatter against my red oak chair and thud against the maroon-carpeted floor.

seconds later i burst through the stall door furthest from the door and let go.

the images crowd my head, the charges against my detail, the abductions of the 15-year-old girls and the effed-up s--- we put them through. one of the guys from the next barracks over had showed up online fessing up to the prostitution he forced upon one girl, leading her to her own suicide by sundown. the photographs of sodomy. the legal battle and congress' failings against waterboarding and other torture methods. all the s--- that our president passed into legality... all the black ops became legal according to him.

that's when i got out. that's actually ow i met the others. i left during the same week the other black ops guys did and the ex-KGB pair put their fingers on us and we formed a band of brothers. dissenters in the fullest form. none of us loyal any longer to a flag or government.

we were a bunch of ex-war criminals venting to each other about the others' who'd been worse than us.

from the secret US arsenal there's:

**me-Mark-32-- (i did a bunch of pre-cog jobs in afghanistan and was part of the small number of folks--including Bush--who knew of 9/11 before the planes took off that morning. i've since spent time at Gitmo, Abu Ghraib, and helped operate a torture camp and prison in southern Pakistan. i helped prepare the bombers and the shooter that assassinated Bhutto a few years back, at the end of '07)

**Cal-46-- (his history in black ops is so long that he backed the guys in Somalia who took out Siad Barre in '91, and then backed the guys who took down General Aidid's clan from '93-'96, and his last job was in helping topple the Somali Transitional Federal Government--after helping them and Ethiopia come to power 6 years earlier, of course)

**Miller-38-- (this kingpin is responsible for half the police killings in Mexico, since the turn of the century. he worked for both sides and the federal green that told im what to do was all taken away once he tried to tell his story. he barely got out of El Paso with his life. he's gone off the grid as much as is possible in this country. he's on the FBI's most wanted list)

**Valentino-25-- (a product of the School of America, the first one to use his new "skills" against three governments in one day. he's supposedly dead, according to the CIA, but we're pretty sure they knew about him again by the time we met for steak that day)

from the former KGB we have:

**Leo-42-- (killed 734 civilians and politicians fro capitalist nations. at one point, he had his scope on the first Bush. Kremlin threatened to disappear him if he pulled the trigger, once they learned of KGB's plot. their call saved his life by two and a half seconds. he defected after the others from that plot started vanishing as well)

**Emil-45-- (waged war against civilian Afghans and is the reason that Kosovo no longer exists. he bailed from Russia's secret killers and chess players right after he witnessed the effects of the gas he'd been implementing--on his wife and three children)

and our hot techie:

**Maggs-27-- (just out of harvard law school, a very athletic runner, a quick learner, and the one who caused the 2004 blackout of northeastern US... just so she'd have no night classes on anatomy. her motivation in this cause: army-brother Frank's gone MIA. two years ago in Tehran. she'd been lookin for us for over a year by the time we all met up through different connections and sat down for dinner)

---

great, so the first meeting we all have TOGETHER, and my stomach goes AWOL.

i finish wiping my mouth and wash my face for a good five minutes. Emil comes in and puts a hand on my shoulder.

in a thick Rusky accent he says, "Mark, my friend, you look like hell!"

"you'd know it, Emil." i regain my feet better, and lean back from the wall mirror. "let's get the check. i'm sick of waiting."

"already done. we're outside having a cigarette. i'm guessing you don't want one right now?"

"no, probably not. who's paying?"

Emil smiles a crafty smile, hands me a credit card. for a second i think it'll be mine. i recognize the name of an ex-senator with a horrible record. "Uncle Sam," he chides proudly.

"you son of a b----. i'm gonna like working with you!"

---

outside, i watch a few of the others desperately trying to keep the wind from their newports and black'n'milds and camels. Emil lights his half-gone Cuban cigar and hands it to me.

i take a drag and allow the smoke to circulate. fighting a gag reflex with too much recent practice, i focus on the side of the busy city street. the cabs are flyin by on this misting new york night.

Valentino comes up to me, the sweet flavor of his black'n'mild--creme--nearly knocks me off my feet.

he starts speaking, looking at me, but addressing the whole crew, "Mark, we're heading out to Geneva tomorrow. it's time we leave behind our lies and face our burdens head on. call some folks, say your goodbyes, and then you can kiss this soil goodbye come morning. chances are we'll all disappear by year's end, but before Sammy catches on to us, we'll at least be able to extradite, capture, contain, arrest, and reign in half the world's war criminals. i guess if we get lucky we'll come back by here sooner or later. if Geneva won't take us, it's no matter. we all know people. we'll make this happen.

"the flight's gonna suck and mess up your clocks, so make sure you actually sleep tonight, alright? we're no use to the free world if we're snoozing our a---- off, droolin on our AK's."

we all know the drill already, all except for Maggs. the one who'll be the most use to us, is also the one who has absolutely no extended overseas experience. a flight like this will knock her out. i pray she's prepared.

i spend enough time standin in one spot that i finish Emil's cigar. now i've gotta find my way back to our motel 6. on the other side of the river.

----- end.part.one

[all images are public domain, all characters and names are fictional, all events are possible]