The Veteran

Because of me, my family was in danger, and I wasn't quite sure how to tell her without sending her off the deep end. She needed help, someone to watch over her and the boys, and I had to work fast.

Fuck me. I never wanted this.

Walking down the stairs toward the exit, my neck and back started to ache. The tension had been building over the last few days, and a migraine was coming on. Knowing some evil people were looking for us brought more stress, which I didn't need. I had to remain clear headed.

As I left the courthouse, I slipped on my sunglasses to reduce the glare of the sun reflecting off the marble courthouse walls. The temperature reaching eighty-five degrees, if the sign on the bank across the street was correct, was stereotypical for late May in Tampa. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at full attention, and a chill ran down my spine. Something was out of place, and I couldn't put my finger on it. I scanned the courtyard, looking for anything, any sign of someone or something out of place. I was rusty at this, and it sucked. I hadn't needed this level of awareness for almost fifteen years, and some of the old feelings that once repulsed me were starting to return. At this point, I had to consider anyone a potential threat; I trusted no one, and I hated it. It had taken me a long time to start trusting people again, and in less than a week, all those years of hard work were going down the drain. I had to focus.

I stepped into an alcove outside the front entrance, keeping an eye on any movement, and turned my phone on. I had three text messages along with three voicemails from my wife, and many from unknown numbers. I read her text messages first, all saying "call me ASAP." Shit, my phone wasn't on in the courthouse. I listened to the voicemails and were all sent in the previous hour. She sounded worried, but I would wait until I got to the safety of my car to talk to her. I texted her I had just left the courthouse, and I would call her soon. Her typical reply of OK was a good sign.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened in the courtyard, and I remained vigilant for any interaction with the media. I made my way down the catwalk to the parking garage, pausing to check my surroundings. I felt naked without my weapon. From this point forward, I would remain armed always, even at home. Approaching the Camry, parked a little over 30 yards from the catwalk, I scanned the area and found no one, to my relief. I approached my car, and almost got in, but caught myself. I lowered myself to the ground and checked under the car for anything out of the ordinary such as bombs or booby traps. When I was in the military, I had used similar devices to take out targets and recognized the signs. Not finding anything, I walked around the car, looking for any signs of tampering. I disengaged the alarm and was rewarded with the double chirp. The alarm would've gone off if someone tampered with the car, but I wasn't taking any chances. Opening the trunk, I retrieved my 9mm Sig, pulled the slide to chamber a round, and re-holstered it in my waistband. I couldn't afford to walk around with an empty chamber anymore. One round and seconds made the difference, and I wasn't willing to bet my life on my slowed timing. I wasn't as fast as I was fifteen years ago and would need any advantage.

I got in and drove to the top floor of the parking garage. Except for a few cars, it was empty, and I backed into a parking space far away from the ramp. If anyone approached, I would see them. I picked up my phone and read the rest of the text messages. Some were from friends, but most were from unknown numbers. One concerned me. It read; 'You are in danger. You might want to think about leaving town ASAP. They are coming for you.'

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

I locked the message and deleted the rest. One voicemail remained, and I listened to it.

"Mr. Hunter, this is Mr. Jones from the QuickBuy Corporation. We met the other day and spoke at your house on Tuesday morning. When you have a moment, I was hoping to speak with you about the offer we extended. The offer is lucrative and might help you with your current situation. Please return my call at your convenience."

What the fuck did he mean by my current situation? What does this asshole know about it?

It would wait, but I was going to find out.

I dialed my wife's number, and it went straight to voicemail. That wasn't like her. She never let her phone die. I tried again, and it rang.

"Hey, I got your messages. What's wrong, honey?"

"I'm scared, John. What am I supposed to do?"

Fear permeated her words. I had to get her to calm down.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully. I just finished talking with the DA and the FBI, and these are some bad people we're dealing with. You need to stay with your parents for now."

"What kind of people?" Now, more panic rose in her voice, as if the death threat wasn't enough.

"Mary, I need you to remain calm. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes. Calm. I can remain calm." She started taking deep breaths.

"After talking with them, I found out some alarming information about those two guys."

"What did you find out?" She sounded apprehensive.

"Yeah, so about those two guys," I started, "turns out they were connected to the Russian Mafia and a skinhead group here in the U.S."

Silence.

"Mary?"

"Please tell me you're joking, and if you are, it's not funny."

"No, I'm not joking. They were some bad dudes, and I pissed them off. The FBI and DA said there's nothing they can do until something happens, and even then, they're not sure if they can help," and I waited.

"What do you mean? Nothing they can do? They're the fucking FBI, for God's sake. Can't they trace it or something? Can't they find out where it came from? You're a computer guy, can't you trace it" I sensed the fear in her voice.

"I guess, but I don't have the equipment or access to do that. Maybe they will, but they said until the threat becomes real, their hands are tied. I mean, they need to do something for the FBI to take any action."

"Do something? You mean, like trying to actually kill us or something?" She didn't like my answer.

"Yes. That's pretty much it, but the D.A. here is going to call the D.A. near you and to check if they can provide some police protection for you, but no guarantee. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you I have this under control because I don't yet."

"I talked to the police and filled out a complaint form. They said there's not a whole lot they can do either. So, what are we going to do?"

I didn't want to tell her we had few options, but I had to.

"It looks like it's all up to us. The DA is going to talk to the Chief of Police to provide me with some police protection for the short term. Until then, I'm going to be careful and make sure I'm as prepared as I can be. I'm going to Stan's, you remember, that sporting goods store, and buy a few more weapons, which I'm going to need to survive, Mary.

"That's all fine and dandy for you, but what are we supposed to do here? My dad has one rifle and a little pistol, and he doesn't like guns. How are we supposed to protect ourselves?"

"I'm going to figure this out, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that? Do you trust me, Mary?"

"Of course, I trust you, but I'm scared. What are we supposed to do?"

"Hang tight at your parents' house. I'm going to contact some of my old buddies and see if they can help in some way, which I'm sure they will. In the meantime, Diego is close and will come by to check on you. You remember Diego?"

"Yes, Of course, I remember him."

"Until I have more information and am better prepared, there's not a whole lot anyone can do for us. We're on our own." I finished my sentence and waited.

"So, we wait then? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, for now. You need to tell your parents what I've told you. You all need to stay at the house and not go anywhere for a while until we figure out what's going on. That's all I can tell you."

"Ok, I'll tell them, but is it really safe here?"

"Your parents' house is as safe as anywhere else, and as much as I'd love for you and the boys to be here with me, I don't think it's safer here. I'm going to call Diego and send him to you as soon as possible. Are you good with that?"

"If you're safe, I think I'll be fine. Make sure you tell him not to come on the property unannounced. My dad's ready to shoot first and ask questions later, considering the circumstances."

"Diego will contact you before he comes over. He knows the drill. I have a lot of stuff to do, but I promise I'll stay as safe as I can. I don't know what they're monitoring, so I'll contact you via other means." She understood what I meant, as we had discussed possible events like this in the past.

"Ok. Call me when you know something,"

I ended the call. I had to assume they were monitoring my phone. From the photos in the message, they had my address, and from the news, my name and my face. I had to make some changes fast if I was going outsmart them. It was going on 1:00 pm. I had a lot to do, and not much time to do it.

I left the parking garage and headed to the bank. For emergencies, I kept a bug out bag, which was nothing more than a backpack with emergency supplies, in my trunk. I emptied the contents and walked into the bank with the backpack over my shoulder. I withdrew most of the cash from our account, close to $20,000. Much to the surprise of the teller, I asked for it in small bills and placed it in my pack. I walked out of the bank and headed across the parking lot to our local super chain store.

The store was busy, as usual with the constant throng of consumers, shuffling in and out of the store. I found it easy to blend in with the masses. I made my way to the electronics area where I bought two burner phones with $100 worth of minutes each, not knowing how many minutes I would need. It was better to be safe than sorry. Stan's was next on my list of places to stop, so I walked over to the sporting goods section and bought the ammo for all the weapons I would be purchasing at Stan's. Stan's had competitive prices on guns, but their ammo prices were way above everyone else's. The clerk in the sporting goods section gave me an inquisitive look but didn't ask too many questions. I guess it wasn't too uncommon for someone to buy a shopping cart full of ammo. I didn't own any rifles, one of my wife's caveats, but I was about to change that. With our current situation, she couldn't object.

Getting into my car, I turned on my old phone, put it in airplane mode and pulled the numbers I would need, and entered them into the new phone. I couldn't risk them tracking me. I called Diego from the new burner phone.

"Who's this?"

"John."

"New phone?"

"Yeah, I got a burner. I wanted to give you a heads up. I spoke with the DA, and these are some bad dudes I pissed off. I think they're gunning for me now, so I'm getting loaded for bear."

"Do you need my help? I can hop on the next flight."

"No. I need you to go check on Mary and the boys. They're not far from you, but make sure you call her first. Her dad has an itchy trigger finger, but can't hit the broadside of a barn, and I don't want him shooting himself, as entertaining as that would be. I'll text you her number."

"Are you sure? I can be there in a few hours, and if they're as bad as you say they are, you'll need my help."

"No, I need you to check on them for me. I need to know they're safe so I can do what I need to do."

"Ok, amigo. It's your call but call me if you need anything."

"I will, and thanks, Diego. It means a lot to me. Gotta go."

"Ok. Watch your six, amigo. I'll handle things here."

I felt a little better knowing that Diego would be checking on them and keeping them safe. Now all I had to worry about was keeping my own ass out of hot water.

Mary and Diego had met a few times, once at our wedding and a few times since. She knew I trusted him more than anyone and would listen to him if needed.

With plenty of cash and ammo, I headed to Stan's to purchase the items I would need if I were to survive. Stan's was every outdoorsman's dream and carried everything anyone would need. On the way, I called Jones, the QuickBuy corporate guy. Without a job, I was going to need some source of income and the offer from the corporate guy was all I had. I decided to give him a ring.

"Hello, this is Mr. Jones. Who is calling?"

"Mr. Jones, John Hunter. I'm returning your call from another number."

"Mr. Hunter. So, nice of you to call. Did you think about our offer?"

"What's your offer? I'm curious."

"Are you available to meet tonight for a late dinner to discuss our proposal? The other two gentlemen you met earlier this week will join us. We promise we won't take up too much of your time."

Although they tried to come off as legitimate, something was shady about them. I was familiar with their types from working with the government for so long. I couldn't put my finger on why they wanted me, but my guess would be nothing beneficial for me and profitable for them.

Might as well hear them out.

"I’m running errands and have some issues to handle, but I can meet you. I'll need some flexibility with the time; I'm under some constraints this evening. I'll call you to confirm. Where are we meeting?"

"What we're going to discuss is not for public disclosure, so we'd like to meet you in private at one of our corporate offices downtown. Dinner will be catered to avoid any unnecessary interruptions or intrusions. Our offices are well guarded but come armed if you believe it's necessary."

Security was now my pressing concern but allowing me to come armed to a prospective job interview was way out of the ordinary.

"Send the address to this phone and don't give this number out to anyone. I mean anyone. I'll arrive at ten. If anything is out of place, this meeting won't happen," I stressed.

"I will make sure you're informed. If you prefer, one of our drivers will pick you up in one of our well-protected vehicles. Your call."

"I'll think about it and inform how I want to handle this. I might bring someone with me, and that's non-negotiable."

"Very well, Mr. Hunter. Ten o'clock it is, then."

I ended the call and had to admit my curiosity was piqued. They agreed to meet with me, at ten o'clock at night, on my schedule, on my terms and allow me to come armed. It was a little too convenient. Something wasn't meshing. I wasn't a cop, a security consultant, or anything of the sort. I was now a former computer guy who had once pulled time in the Special Forces community, but that was over 15 years ago. I didn't see what I was bringing to the table for anyone.

Arriving at Stan's, I exited my car and scanned the parking lot. I remained vigilant for anyone tailing me. Either I had gotten rusty, or they hadn't latched on to me yet. I was hoping for the latter. Stan's Sporting Goods was busy, typical for a Friday, but that worked to my advantage. I walked in with almost twenty thousand dollars in the backpack and would walk out with bigger and better firepower than I had. I snagged a cart and hit the archery aisle first, grabbing a Bear compound bow, one of my favorites, 4 dozen arrows, and broadhead tips. As I approached the firearms counter, the salesman asked if I was going hunting. I looked at him and replied, "not yet, and I'm hoping not to." The look he gave me was a bit odd, but he shrugged it off. I was sure he had dealt with a lot of weirdos and their crazy requests.

They carried a variety of rifles and shotguns behind the counter, and I asked to handle a few. I picked out four rifles and a shotgun that was to my liking, along with extra magazines to go with them. I made sure the clerk added all the bells and whistles, which he agreed to install at the time of purchase for a small fee. This guy was efficient, and I would remember him for the future. With my concealed carry, I skipped the waiting period and would walk out today with everything, after the paperwork drill. While the clerk was working on the that, I perused the handguns and found a match to my Sig Sauer P226 Mk25 and a matching set of Springfield Armory XD(M) full size .45 caliber pistols with laser sights. I told him to add them to the list, along with additional magazines, and double shoulder holster rig to match.

He asked me if I was a prepper, and to keep him from asking too many questions, I played it off and responded, "Yes. Can't have too many guns these days, with all the craziness going on in the world."

He shrugged his shoulders like he had heard it before. He probably thought I was another one of those crazy prepper kind of guys, but at this point, I didn't care. I asked if they had any traps and flare guns, and he stated they carried them, but they were on the other side of the store. I told him to finish the upgrades and work on the paperwork until I returned with my other purchases.

Walking through the store, I kept an eye on all the customers I could see. No one stood out as a possible threat, and I located the trapping section and put a dozen bear traps in my basket. I found the flare guns in the camping supplies and added them along with extra flare rounds to my basket. These would not kill someone, but the flares would get their attention, and the traps would put a hurting on someone and slow them down with a mangled or a broken foot.

Stan's is a dog-friendly store, and I saw a guy with his dog. Crap! I had forgotten to swing by the house and let Jake in. He had been outside since I had left in the morning, and although he had food and water, I didn't want him outside all day. I would need to check on the cat, as well. I hated that thing, but the old stray had wormed its way into my family. I needed to pick up my pace to finish my other errands.

I walked back to the firearms counter, the guy told me everything had checked out, and he was ready to ring me up. The total, with the guns, traps, and ammo came up to a little over $10,000, which I counted out in twenty-dollar bills to the young man, who saw how much cash I was carrying. He made a remark that he was glad I bought some guns since I would need them, having that much money. I looked him square in the eye and cautioned, "People should worry more about me than my guns," and turned and headed for the exit.

As I walked to my car, I realized they knew what I was driving. I had to ditch my car. I called one of our friends, Jan, and told her Mary was out of town and asked I I could leave the car at her house for a few days for safekeeping. She asked if it had anything to do with the shooting, and I told her no, that I had business out of town and didn't want to leave it at the house. She agreed and asked if I would like to park it in her garage, which I accepted without pause. Off the street and out of sight was best for me.

I pulled out of the parking lot at Stan's and headed east toward Used Car Row, as everybody called it. It was a four-lane highway lined with used car dealerships, most of them swindler's, but I needed a car now. During the drive, my thoughts flashed to Mary and the boys. What had been a peaceful life up until a week ago, was now in shambles. I could've walked away, they would still be here, and I wouldn't be in this predicament. They would be at home, and everything would be ok. My decision-making hadn't been the best over the past week, taking the wrong path at every turn. I couldn't screw this up and had to make it right.

Pulling into a lot of a shadier looking dealership, I caught the attention of the first salesman, spotted an old S.U.V. close to my price range and asked to check it out. He started with the whole, we can finance with zero down and all the other used car salesman bullshit, but I was having none of it. Most of these guys were con men and shysters, and I would play to their greed.

The S.U.V. was a piece of shit, so I took it for a short test drive, and it seemed to run well enough. Overpriced at $3500, it was worth maybe $2000, at best. All these dealerships bought their vehicles at auctions from police impounds and as such, paid pennies on the dollar for most of them. I turned my back and pulled out $2000 cash, held it in my hand. I would have bet that he didn't pay anywhere near this amount for the S.U.V. and I offered him the money and waited. He looked at me. $2000 on the barrelhead for this piece of junk was a steal for him. He accepted my offer.

We filled out the paperwork, he gave me the temporary registration and tags, and I gave him the money, plus an extra $500 if he would wait to file the title paperwork until the end of next week, no questions. I didn't want my name processed in any system. He agreed and told me the tag would arrive in seven days after he filed. I told him to deliver the S.U.V to my wife's friend's address as soon as possible. Any damage and I would return to talk to him. I gave him the address, and he had one of his helpers grab the keys and depart. I got in my car and followed. I took precautions to make sure we weren't followed, checking my six but lost the kid along the way.

As I approached the house, I stopped a few hundred yards away, checking for signs of trouble. None was apparent, and I drove up. The kid had arrived before me. It was approaching dusk, and Jan was sitting outside on the porch, their house about 100 feet off the road. She opened the garage, and I pulled my car in, killed the ignition, and then stepped to the back, opening the trunk. I told the kid to back the SUV up to the garage and offered to give him a ride back to the dealership plus a hundred bucks if he helped me load the stuff into the SUV. He agreed. When he saw all the weapons, ammo, and bear traps, he asked if I was going hunting. All I did was stare, and his curiosity disappeared. This kid didn't need any more information than he already had. Jan looked at everything I had and asked if things were ok. I told her it was best that she didn't know.

I dropped him off at the dealership and realized my errands had taken longer than I had planned, and I hadn't eaten since the night before. I was starving. I found Bob's Burgers and called Mary and Diego while I was waiting for my food, giving them an update on what I was doing. Mary wasn't keen on all the firearm purchases, but understood, considering the circumstances. She preferred that I was prepared rather than not. Diego, on the other hand, was all for me buying what I did. He was surprised I hadn't bought more, but you can shoot so many weapons at once. By the time I finished eating, it was almost 8:30 and starting to darkness was settling in. I was supposed to meet those suits downtown at ten and still had to let Jake back into the house. I had to hurry.

As I approached my house, my porch lights and outside garage lights, usually on, were not. I drove past my house, looking to see if I could see anything, but it was too dark. I circled around the back and found Jake cowering in the back corner of the backyard. I eased open the rear gate to let him out, and he bolted and jumped into the S.U.V. He was never a barker, but his hackles were up, and something was wrong. I killed the engine and pulled the M4 carbine from the back, slipped one magazine in, pushed a couple extra magazines into my pockets and secured the secondary pistol and flare gun in my waistband.

I crept toward the back of the house and listened - nothing over the sounds of the nearby freeway and the constant stream of city traffic. If someone was in my house, that meant they couldn't hear me either. The house was dark, and I could've done with a pair of night vision goggles, but I closed my eyes and allowed them to adapt to the darkness.

I hugged the wall, creeping toward the back door which led into our laundry room, off the back of the house. Two doors were separating me from the living room, the most logical place to ambush me. Our living room didn't have a window facing the back, so I had a slight advantage, knowing the layout of my house. I checked the doorknob. The door had been jimmied. This is where they had gone in. They wouldn't expect me to go in the same way.

Careful not to make any noise, I pulled the door open, and the sound of mumbled voices drifted down the hallway. They weren't quiet, giving me the advantage. The M4 was too cumbersome for quick movement in the little hall between the laundry room and the living room, so I lowered it to the ground and drew both of my pistols, rounds chambered and ready to fire. I didn't care what their reason was. Someone was in my house, uninvited. One door separated me from them.

I lowered my other pistol on the floor, reached up, and turned the knob on the interior door. No click. Swinging the door in, with no light, I felt for the washing machine and made sure I didn't bang the doorknob against it. I pulled the flare gun from behind my back and with the pistol in the other hand, got to my knees and dove into the hallway, firing the flare gun into the living room as I landed on the floor. I caught sight of two silhouettes as the flare bounced off the far wall in a shower of sparks and fired with my pistol at both, emptying one magazine, ejecting it and loading another as fast as possible. A scream erupted from across the room. I had hit one of them, but I had missed the other as automatic gunfire then erupted in my direction. He was either an amateur or a poor marksman, his rounds penetrating the walls over my head. Firing from the floor saved my life.

I aimed for the second muzzle flash and pumped six rounds in that direction, which was followed by a loud thud and lots of groaning. The flare was still burning on my kitchen floor, and as my eyes adjusted. Two bodies lay on the living room. I checked the light switch, and it didn't work. I made my way back to the garage where I found the main breaker tripped. I flipped it, and some lights came on in the house. I returned to the living room. The pools of blood spread across the floor from the two guys I had dispatched, which sounded much better than killed. It was almost professional.

I snatched the burning flare from the floor, and tossed it in the sink, and filled it with water. It continued to burn, the acrid smoke now billowing from the bubbling water. I dumped a couple of pounds of kitty litter into the sink, which extinguished it.

I sat down and surveyed the damage; kitchen flooring burned to shit, rug soaked with blood, holes all over my walls, two dead guys on my floor, and it was only 2100. I was sure someone heard the gunfire, so I had to head it off before the police arrived or get the hell out of Dodge. I pulled the agent's card from my pocket and dialed the number from my burner phone.

"Special Agent Harper, who's speaking?"

"Harper, John Hunter. Big problem. I have two dead guys in my living room. They tried to ambush me, and it didn't turn out too well for them. I need this to go away or something. I don't need any more attention."

"I'm on my way. I'll call the DA and ask her to meet me at your place. Are you safe?"

"For now, I am. Can't say the same for the guys on my floor. You might want to hurry. People in my neighborhood are nosy. I'm surprised the cops aren't here yet

"I haven't heard anything, but I'll make some calls and head them off. It's the best I can do at this moment. I'll see you in about 30 minutes."

I wasn't going to make the meeting, so I called Mr. Jones. "Mr. Jones, I'm not going to make it. I had some uninvited guests and had to ask them to leave. We'll need to reschedule."

"It appears things escalated faster than we had anticipated. We will come to you at 10:30 at your residence."

"I don't think that's a good idea. The FBI is heading this way, along with the DA and maybe the police. Probably not the best time to talk, if you ask me."

"We will meet with you at 10:00 am tomorrow morning at our offices. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me, Mr. Hunter. Until tomorrow," and he hung up.

What did he mean by escalated faster than we had anticipated?

The stench of death inside the house was overpowering. It sat in your nose and mouth and permeated everything it touched. I opened the back and front windows, turning the lights off, except the porchlight. I left the S.U.V. in the grass behind the house. What I was driving was nobody's business. Jake was a scared mess and didn't want to come near the house. He stayed in the far corner of the backyard near the gate until I coaxed him to me. I couldn't let him in with all the blood and guts lying around, but I could comfort him.

I went back inside, picking up the M4 and pistol on the way, checked and reloaded my pistol and the flare gun, and sat everything in front of me.

I can't believe this shit. God damn WWIII in my fucking house.

I needed more light for what I was about to do. I pulled my front curtains closed and flipped on the light in the hallway, which gave me enough light to see. Bad guy #1 was lying face up, after having flipped backward over the couch by the impact of four rounds. One had entered his upper chest, one his throat and the other two in the middle of his face. What a fucking mess.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a few pictures of him, almost unrecognizable, and dug through his pockets for anything. Of course, he didn't have an ID, but he did have a shitload of tattoos. Someone would recognize them, and what they meant, so I took a few shots of them. Bad guy #2 was face down, his body contorted by one of my rounds entering center mass and exiting through his spine. The other shots, how many I was unsure, messed up that fat ugly face of his. One round hit him in his crotch.

Good, fucker. You deserved it.

He didn't have any ID either and had many of the same tattoos, which I photographed. I examined their weapons; standard issue AK-74 machine pistol. These would come in handy. I searched the room and found a small carry bag with about 10 magazines and 5 boxes of ammo. These would disappear with me tonight.

It was none too soon when came a knock on the door. I peered through the peephole and saw Agent Harper and the D.A on my doorstep. I drew my pistol from my holster, held it behind my back, and opened the door, motioning them in. As soon as they saw the bodies on the floor, the DA lost her lunch and threw up all over my carpet. I could see Agent Harper wasn't faring too well either. The stench; a mixture of blood, burned flooring, flare smoke, and dead bodies that had evacuated their contents when they died was too much for them.

They didn't move.

For the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of a field office, Harper seemed green. I guess I expected a little more composure and control, but at this point, it didn't matter. After they composed themselves, they started with the questions, for which I didn't have many answers. This was twice in less than a week that I had been in a firefight and I wasn't happy as the second incident happened in my house.

Agent Harper looked at both bodies, and by the tattoos alone identified them as Russians. His office would take jurisdiction and would handle the scene cleanup. He looked at the weapons and asked which ones belonged to the dead guys.

"Those two," I said, pointing at the machine pistols, "but I'd prefer to keep them. I need all the firepower I can handle."

With tonight's events, the FBI had reason to act. I watched him glance from me to the weapons, and back to me. "Take 'em," he said shaking his head, "You might need them. I'll deal with the paperwork later. For now, take what you need and find to someplace safe until we can arrange a protection detail for you."

He turned and looked at the DA, who was busy on her phone, "Do you need anything from him?"

She paused her conversation, "No, not now, the medical examiner will be here in about an hour, and I've spoken with the Chief of Police who's sending over a couple of his trusted officers to help with the crime scene." She turned and looked at me, "Mr. Hunter, I would advise you to stay out of the spotlight for a while. This one is out of my hands now that the FBI is taking over. We'll do what we can. Good luck!" and she returned to her conversation.

Agent Harper spoke, "I guess you're free to go. I don't need anything else, so you should probably leave as soon as you can."

I headed to my bedroom and was brought back to the reality that my wife and kids weren't here. It was a bittersweet moment, wanting them to be here, but knowing if they had been home, the ending might not have been the same. I was glad they weren't. I looked at our bed, now empty, the last thing she wore, one of my shirts, still lying near her pillow with the scent of her perfume she wore only for me, lingered in the room. I gathered a few changes of clothes, a couple of our family photos, a pair of running shoes, and my boots, and threw them in one of my old carry-on bags. I glanced at her shirt again. I didn't want to leave it behind and tossed it in the overnight bag on top of my clothes. I closed the bag, not used for a long time, and thought about our travels.

We hadn't traveled much, remaining home bodies most of the time we'd been together. Mary didn't like to fly, and she didn't like riding in cars for extended periods, which didn't leave us with many options for vacations. Most of our time was spent at local campgrounds and occasional visits to the beach for the weekend. Her parents were helpful, taking the boys on trips, allowing them the opportunity for experiences we couldn't provide them. As they got older, I started taking them on longer trips and Mary was content to stay home. I headed back toward the living room and stepped into the kitchen. I wasn't going to leave Jake behind and filled a gallon Ziploc bag with his food for the road, put some cat food in two bowls for the little asshole, as I called him, and filled the water jug before I headed out. I looked at the cat, who always hated me anyway and then to Agent Harper, who the cat was now rubbing up against.

"Do you think you can help me out with this? My wife would kill me if I left the cat, and I can't take it with me."

I was in a bind, and he must have had a soft spot for animals. "I can call animal control to come to pick it up, or," glancing down at the cat, "and I might regret saying this, but I guess I could watch it for you for a few days."

"Great. There's a crate in the laundry room, and plenty of food you can take with you. My wife would be happy that we didn't give it up to animal control. I can pay you to watch it."

"Fine, I'll watch the cat, but not for long. You'll need to pick it up as soon as you can."

"Deal," I didn't mention anything else about the cat, worried he might change his mind.

I gathered the rest of my gear and walked toward the SUV. Harper saw I was struggling to carry it and offered to help. I opened the back of the SUV. When he viewed the contents, his expression turned to surprise.

"That's a lot of weaponry, Mr. Hunter. Everything legal, I'm assuming?"

"And if they weren't?"

"I didn't see anything. I don't want to know where you are, for now. I'll handle everything here and contact you later."

This guy isn't too bad. He's playing it smart. If he doesn't know where I am, he can't tell anyone.

I got Jake back in the S.U.V., fired it up, and headed down the street. With nowhere to stay, I would remain on the move until I had a plan. I had to find someplace safe before the Russians realized their guys were dead. It wouldn't take long, and once they did, it was guaranteed they would send more people after me. They wouldn't give up, and I couldn't wait for the proverbial shit to hit the fan. I needed to be as far away from here as possible. This was going to make for a long night.