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Chapter 21

Little ducks in a row.  Pow, pow--bang.

Joplin blew out a breath of chilled air.  He steadied his hand, refocusing his field of view.  The night vision goggles illuminated the room making the objects glow like green lava.  He’d sat watching, deciding how best to kill his mark.  He still hadn’t recovered from the bombshell hoisted on him by of all people, Morpheus Gustafson.  He’d arrived at his apartment with an ultimatum concerning a topic that would follow him to his grave.  The subject had concern Tollin Pettier and the way he’d died.  Morpheus had done all the talking, telling him what a mess he’d made of things.  Then Morpheus had insisted to know the connection between Joplin and Andrew.  In other words, how did Andrew know to contact him.  Years ago, Joplin had crossed paths with Andrew before he’d been a governor.  Their’s had been a chance meeting of sort.  Andrew had gotten involved with an underage prostitute, and she’d tricked him by stealing his wallet.  For a small exchange of cash, he’d caught the girl and retrieved Andrew’s wallet.  He’d given Andrew his number, and over the years their paths had crossed several times, but Tollin had been the first person Andrew had asked him to deal with.  Morpheus had sat silent, in disbelief.  When he composed himself, he started by telling Joplin that he didn’t know where his mother got the name Paddox; and it really didn’t matter.  He’d told him that he was a Gustafson, and as such, he would have to do better.  They took a quick trip down memory lane, with Morpheus doing most of the talking.  Joplin had never met his father, and his mother had lied, telling him that she had not known who had fathered him.  Then when his mother had died, Joplin had been nine years old, and he’d been raised by his maternal grandmother.  He’d been a piss ass, wise ass, and every other ass, a shitty little snot nosed kid could be.  He’d been too much for his grandmother to handle and when he’d been old enough, one of his counselors had suggested a career in the military.  The day after graduation he’d been shipped off to basic training, where he’d excelled in every area.  Then after serving two tours of duty, when his hitch had been up, he’d decided that enough was enough, and that he’d wanted a civilian life.  When he’d been offered a job working for a security firm, at the time he didn’t know that the company was a subsidiary of Gustafson’s securities.  The money had been good, but Joplin loved to kill.  Not hunting animals; he loved to set his sites, watching the way the body shook, then fell after the kill.  It didn’t take much to get his name out, and in no time, he’d begun his career as a part time paid assassin.  The irony had been that Morpheus had known about him all along and he’d used his connections to employ him.  He’d also known about Joplin’s part time job; and he’d stood silent, because when he’d heard about this, his informants had reported that Joplin was a natural born killer.  In many ways, Morpheus had admired this trait, mainly because, he viewed death much differently than most.

Morpheus had explained why he’d decided not to tell his father about him.  Joplin had to admit; he’d never been a good kid, and his adult life had not been much better; so, he couldn’t blame Morpheus for hesitating, after learning that he’d found his brothers son.  But when Morpheus had said, that he’d made the decision, for a greater good; Joplin had ruminated on that but in the end, he’d concluded that nothing good had come from keeping father and son apart.  Not one damn thing.

After the awkwardness of their reunion had passed, Morpheus summed up his visit.  He’d been told that he had to clean up his mess, then clean up his act--or else.  In other words, fix his Tollin shit--or die.  Clean up his life--or die.  He didn’t much like the clean up part, but he really didn’t like the dying part.  He swallowed what it all meant to him, then he’d nodded, and agreed to whatever would keep him breathing on planet earth.

Joplin had been given one name and his instructions had been crystal clear.  Morpheus had stared at him, stone faced.  He’d said...

“When this job is done, report to this private airfield.”

He’d handed Joplin a set of coordinates, then he’d said...

“A plane will be waiting.  Before you arrive, pack only one suitcase.  Clear out your apartment because, you won’t be coming back.”

When Joplin had said...

“Destination”

Morpheus responded,

“Greece”

And that had been that.  Joplin didn’t know all the specifics, but Morpheus had told him once he’d completed this job, he would personally make introductions.  He’d said their names; Raal and Kyle, his father’s lover.  None of it made any sense to him, and he wondered what had provoked his uncles sudden spark of conscience.  Oddly, he understood why he’d chosen him for this mission--that part made perfect sense to him.  After tonights kill, the secret concerning Tollin’s murder would leave with him; because after tonight, he would be saying goodbye to the America’s for a long, long time; if he valued his life.  That was fine by him, because lately the country had become highly overrated.

Back to business, he’d thought, because the kitchen light had gone out.  He considered his options.  Shoot from here...or break into the ranch.

“What the hell.”

He said...because even if the window shattered into a million pieces, broken glass wouldn’t change the outcome.  Not with the bullets he’d chosen.  In fact...Andrew was as good as dead; the lying fuck.  According to Morpheus, the governor had said that when he’d phoned Joplin he’d only asked him to keep Tollin away from his sister; what a crock.  Joplin grinned, because he remembered the conversation.  Andrew had instructed him to kill Tollin, and he specified that the murder should be an agonizing death.  Putz that he was, Andrew had lied, placing the blame solely on Joplin.  That was fine by him because if this angle didn’t work, there was always the up close and personal approach; just like he’d done with Tollin.  He wondered if Andrew was a religious man.

He sighed, then he said...

“Yep...this business of killing is getting to easy”

Gloria was asleep in another part of the house, and Andrew’s wife had abandoned his bed years ago, after learning about her husband’s sex addiction.  He didn’t have to worry about the women, and he’d been warned to avoid the mistake of collateral kills.  He watched Andrew’s movements, until he settled in his bedroom, carrying an oversized bowl, filled with popcorn.  Joplin smirked, because he spotted a large jar of petroleum jelly on the nightstand.

“Lover boy Wilcox.  Sorry my friend, but you won’t need that tonight.”  He joked.

He readjusted his scope, then he inhaled, preparing for the jerk, then the pop.  When the shot rang out like a cannon, he lay motionless, then almost instantaneously, he witnessed the through and through slump of his head shot.  It was done.  Joplin lay on his stomach, moving away, using his sniper training to stealthily egress the area.  He blended in like a shadow, melding with the surroundings.  By the time the people in the house figured out what had happened, he knew that he’d be long gone, and the state police would be tasked with the job of solving this murder.  After that, compromising secret’s would be leaked and the information would come from an anonymous source.  The New’s stories would paint a picture of a man gone wrong, and he would be blamed for Tollin’s murder.  He didn’t know who Andrew had pissed off, and he didn’t rightly care.  His part had been played, and his involvement with the governor was done and over with.

Joplin’s thoughts went to Greece, and the new life that awaited him.  He would take this secret across the Atlantic, and the truth would follow him to his grave.  He would start over, being a better man.  He considered, maybe the time had come to take a lover.  Maybe the time had come to settled down, and find a wife.  He looked forward to his future.