Moonlight Warriors: A Tale of Two Hit Men (2 page)

Chapter 2

Love Will Lead Us Home

“
Love will lead us home.
”  -- This message was emblazoned in gold letters on the blue tee-shirts worn by a group of teenagers that walked past Marcus on the sidewalk.

Marcus Augustine was not a man who was easily distracted.  Even though he was in the middle of a mission, Marcus paused for a few moments as he read the message on the high school students’ shirts.

The picture on the shirts depicted three travelers on horseback, perhaps they were knights, as they rode toward a holy city illuminated by a glowing cross.

It reminded Marcus of a purer, truer, better time of his life.  For those few moments, it reawakened and renewed all of his hopes.

Chance and circumstance had conspired against him.

Marcus Augustine realized at a young age that he was not going to be one of those fortunate few who seemed to coast through life with ease.

When he was ten years old, his parents were driving to a funeral of a family friend when a truck driver smashed into the rear of their car, killing both his mother and father.  In order to make a few extra dollars, the truck driver had stayed on the road too long without sleep and had not noticed that the traffic ahead of him had come to a stop.

His greed killed my parents, Marcus reflected bitterly.  He killed them in a funeral procession.  Marcus realized the cruel irony of the tragedy.   The funeral procession for his parents traveled down the same road a couple of days later.

Marcus was an only child.  He had been in school on the day of the accident, so his life was spared.

He went to live with his aunt and uncle, who were pleasant persons, but they were no comparison to his own parents.  They had four children of their own and his presence made their small house even more crowded.

Marcus lived with this family for eight years; there were no major problems, but he always felt like an outsider intruding upon them.  He was never completely comfortable there.

A few days after his eighteenth birthday, Marcus signed up for the Army.  He was glad to finally be out of that house.  He suspected that his aunt, uncle, and cousins were relieved to see him go, but they expressed regret at his departure.

Soon after bidding them farewell, he was on a bus to the military base where he would receive basic training.  Somewhat to his own surprise, he did exceptionally well during basic training.  He was smart, a good athlete, tough, and self-disciplined. 

Marcus realized that he was the best recruit at the camp.  During training drills, the others seemed almost to be moving in slow motion compared to him. 

The officers quickly realized that he was special forces material, and Marcus was transferred to another base where he received this special forces training.

He excelled there, completed his training, and was sent with his unit to Afghanistan where they carried out top-secret, anti-terrorist operations.

Marcus loved the military, and he was awarded for his outstanding service.   He was happy there.  Eventually, though, he became frustrated by all the rules and regulations.  The rules of engagement were too strict, too inflexible.  Many of their jihadist enemies were operating out of bases in nearby countries, but they were not allowed to attack them in those countries.

Marcus wanted to kill the evildoers no matter where they were, and he wanted to use any means necessary to accomplish his mission.   

After leaving the military, Marcus moved back to the St. Louis area where he established himself as a private detective.  He had intended to work as an ordinary private investigator.  However, after seeing women and children being abused, he decided to deal with the cowardly bullies in the way that he had been trained to do.  With help from Marcus, several men, who would be missed by no one, disappeared from the face of the earth.

His thoughts returned to the present.  Marcus realized that he had lost sight of the two men whom he had been following.  Setting aside his reflections, he hurried forward, scanning the pedestrians ahead of him on the busy downtown street.

He soon spotted the two young men; they were only a half-block ahead of him.  They turned onto a side street and went into a bakery.

Marcus approached the small store and then stopped outside the open doorway.  He leaned casually against the brick wall and listened to the conversation taking place within.

“We need that money today!” declared one of the men.

“Today’s cash has already been deposited in the bank,” explained an older woman.  She and her husband were the co-owners of the bakery.

“You owe us two thousand dollars for our protective services,” the other man told her.  “You need our protection.  Bad things happen to good people.”

“Then you two don’t have to worry about something bad happening to you,” the husband said as he came out of the back room and approached the counter.

“Hey, old man, don’t disrespect me!”

“Respect has to be earned.”

The first young man looked at the husband intently.  “We might teach you to respect us by burning this bakery to the ground.”

“Yeah,” laughed the other man. “Lew’s Laundry over on the next block burned down last week.  We taught him to respect us.”

“You think so?” the wife said, shaking her head in disdain.

“I don’t like the attitude that you two have!” the first man shouted at them. “You need an attitude adjustment!”

The second man approached the couple menacingly.  “Unless you give us that two thousand dollars now, you are going to be hurt bad.”  He grabbed the older man’s shirt and pulled the owner toward him.

This situation is starting to get out of control, Marcus thought.  I’d better intervene now.  He stepped through the doorway.

All four persons inside glanced toward him.

“Good afternoon,” Marcus said, taking several steps forward.  “I would like to purchase
a half-dozen doughnuts.”

“Come back later,” the first man said.

“I’m going to need those doughnuts now.  My schedule is very busy today.”

“The bakery is closed for the day,” the second man told Marcus.  “There was a death in the family.”

“And there might soon be another one,” the first man chuckled.

Marcus ignored them and approached the counter where a wide variety of cakes, cookies, doughnuts, and other pastries were on display.

“Everything looks so good,” Marcus said.  “I think that I’ll get a Danish roll along with the doughnuts.”

“Are you deaf?” the second man shouted at him.  “This place is closed!”

“It looks open to me.”

“If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to hurt you bad.”  The man moved toward Marcus, intending to grab him.

Instead, Marcus grabbed the man’s arm and broke his wrist.  As the man screamed in pain, his partner flipped open a butterfly knife and lunged at Marcus.

Marcus deftly avoided the blade, kicked the man in the groin, and hit him in the head with a
backfist strike.  He restrained the dazed man, took away his knife, and removed the handgun from the man’s jacket.

Marcus shoved both men out the doorway.   They stumbled onto the sidewalk, and after a few seconds, went staggering away, muttering curses and threats.

The bakery owners looked at Marcus with amazement.

“Thank you!” the husband said.

“Who are you?” the wife asked.

“A couple of days ago, I was hired by your neighborhood association to protect your businesses from the gang that has been terrorizing them.”

“Oh!” the husband explained.  A look of understanding appeared on his face.  “Yes.  We contributed to the fund that was raised to pay your fee.  That gang has killed four persons in this neighborhood.  They even murdered a teenage girl to keep her from testifying against them.  Last week they burned down Lew’s Laundry, and Lew was badly burned trying to save his business.  We realized that extreme action needed to be taken.”

“Yes.  You did the right thing to hire me.  I will take care of the problem.”

“But those gangsters will be back!”  The wife declared with wide eyes.  “They will be furious about what happened to them in our store.  Next time they will kill us!”

Marcus moved toward the doorway.  “You will never be bothered by those two men again.  And soon the rest of the gang will no longer be a problem.”

“You are one man,” the wife said.  “Can you defeat an entire gang?”

“I guess that we will find out soon enough,” Marcus said with a smile.

“Go do what needs to be done,” the husband said.  “Good luck, and God bless you.”

Marcus went out the door and headed down the street in the direction that the two men had gone.  He hoped that he could catch them.

After walking for about a block, he still did not see them.  He began to worry that they had called someone to pick them up.

I lingered in that store too long talking to that couple, Marcus reprimanded himself.  I allowed those guys to get too much of a lead on me.

Then, a half-block ahead, he spotted them walking into an alley where a third man was waiting for them.  After conferring briefly with this third man, all three pulled out their cell phones and made calls.

Bingo!  Marcus thought as he advanced toward the men.

They were so intent with their phone conversations that they did not notice Marcus until he was about thirty feet from them.

The man with the broken wrist dropped his cell phone and reached into his jacket and began to pull out a handgun.

With the swiftness of a classic western gunfighter, Marcus did a quick draw of his own pistol from the shoulder holster concealed beneath his leather jacket.

As the man started to aim the gun at him, Marcus fired a silenced shot through his forehead.  He fell dead onto the hard pavement of the alley.

The third man, who had his own gun pulled halfway out of his pocket, froze as Marcus aimed at him.

“That would be a really bad idea,” Marcus warned.  “Drop the gun and kick it toward me.”

The man did so, and Marcus picked up the gun and placed it into an inner pocket of his jacket.

“You killed Scott!” the second man shouted accusingly at Marcus.

“He didn’t give me much choice, did he?” Marcus said.  “I hope that the two of you make smarter choices than your friend did.”

“What do you want?” the third man asked.

“At the moment I want your wallets and your cell phones.  And give me the wallet and cell phone of your dead friend.”  When they hesitated, Marcus aimed his gun at them.  “You know that I will pull the trigger.  Give me those wallets and cell phones now!”

Realizing that he was not bluffing, the two men quickly complied, handing Marcus their wallets and cell phones.  The third man removed Scott’s wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, picked up the cell phone from the alley pavement, and handed both item to Marcus.

“I can’t believe this!” the second man exclaimed.  “You are robbing us!”

“No, I’m not.”  Keeping one eye on the men, Marcus removed the driver’s licenses and some other identification cards from the wallets,
then tossed all three wallets back to them.  “I didn’t take any of your money or any credit cards.  I just want to know who the three of you are and where you live.  I want the cell phones because I’m going to use their call logs to help identify the other members of your gang.”

“Who are you?” the third man asked.

Marcus could tell that this man was the smartest of the three.  “I am a concerned citizen.”

“Come on, man.”

“I am concerned that your gang has been terrorizing this neighborhood.  Your gang has killed four persons in this neighborhood, including a teenage girl who was going to testify against you.  Last week you burned down a laundry and the owner was badly burned.  Justice would be served if I killed both of right here, right now.”

“We didn’t do anything, man,” the second man insisted.

“I want the names and addresses of the leaders of your gang.  I want the names and addresses of whoever killed the teenage girl.”

“What are you going to do to them?” the third man asked.

“What do you think?” Marcus replied.

“We’re not telling you anything, man,” the second man said.

“I can see some gentle persuasion is going to be necessary.”  Marcus aimed his gun downward and fired a silenced shot that ricocheted off the pavement only inches away from the second man’s foot.

“Hey!”  The man jumped back in fear.  “Why did you do that?”

“Unless you two tell me who killed that teenage girl, I’m going to have to assume that you two are the killers.  Or you might be leaders of the gang.  Then I will be the judge, jury, and executioner.”

The third man glanced down at Scott’s body.  “Neither of us had anything to do with murdering the girl, and we are not leaders.”

Keeping his gun trained on them, he handed a pen and paper to the third man.

“Tear that piece of paper in half, and give him the other half,” Marcus commanded.  “I want each of you to write down the names that I want.  Don’t look at each other lists.”