Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“You have something you wanna say, Cyclops?” asked Andy, pushing the abuse. His voice held an unrestrained anger. Ten feet away, he waited for a response.

Bristling at this newest insult, Spider’s hand slid toward his hip holster.

“They’re three good men watchin’ you, Bozo.”

“So?”

“They’ll pop out your other fuckin’ eye before you move another inch toward that Glock,” said Andy. Calmly, he added, “Just so we’re clear.”

“What’re you doing, Andy?” whispered Terry, frantic to understand.

“Shh… T. Just back me up and hang on a sec, please .”

“Spider, get back on that horse!” said Mark.

Mark was ignored.

“What’s your problem, prick?” yelled Spider. His eyes never left Andy, taking a few more steps forward.

“You’re my problem, Cy. Making sure you’re aware of it and hope to never see your ugly face again.”

“Why’s that, you hillbilly prick?”

Tracking Spider’s movement, Andy ignored the question, directing his next comment to Mark Harmon.

“Mark, you know this guy’s got a rep in Iraq, right?”

“What? Iraq?”

“Yeah, man that goes by Spider. One-eyed with a scar across his face. Chin to ear.”

“What about it? He lost his eye to an IED. No big deal.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

Spider interrupted.

“Is that right? What’d you hear you little arrogant bastard?”

“Huh. I’m an arrogant bastard? I heard that piss-ass eye of yours was removed by some twelve-year-old Iraqi snatch you lost sight of during a little playtime episode. Uh… please pardon the pun.” Unable to help himself, Andy laughed.

“Some rumor. You make this shit up as you go? Or, are you always just an asshole?” Spider was clearly jostled by the comment.

“Nah,” said Andy, “Just got a good memory for wayward predators. You know, the ones that try to impress little girls, in case I ever meet up with ’im.”

“Sure you do. Problem is, I never met you.”

“So true. You never have… since you’re still breathing.”

“Huh. But, I do know I’ll settle with you before all’s said and done,” said Spider. Satisfied he was back in some element of control, Spider returned to his horse, grabbing the saddle horn and reentering the saddle. He had regained his swagger. That is, until Andy laughed loudly.

“ Hooooold on a sec, Cy. There’s no escape this time, shit boy. We’re settlin’ right now… no bull.” Andy turned to Mark, but chiefly kept sight of Spider. “Mark? Care to hold on for a second? There’s someone you might want to talk to ’bout this piece of shit.”

“What the hell’s going on, Andy?” asked Mark, unmistakably irritated. The power in his tone conveyed an immense anger.

“Nothing. Nothing, but the fact that the man heading up your men right now is pure garbage through and through.” Andy’s eyes never strayed from Spider.

“So, you know him? That’s it? You two got history? You know Spider?”

“He don’t know shit,” said Spider. With emphasis, he spit onto the road toward Andy.

“Nah, not me personally, like I said.”

“Well you’re wrong, Andy. The men have taken to his leadership the past month. I trust him.”

“That right?”

“Damn right it is, you fuckin’ pussy,” yelled Spider, settling into his saddle, smiling with conviction.

“Spider’s shown good leadership,” suggested Mark.

“I’ll bet.”

“Andy, I don’t know what the fuck has got into you, but we’re best to leave now before things get loose,” suggested Mark, “T, no offense, and I do apologize for my profanity, but it seems like we’re not welcome here.”

Ignoring the focused anger of Andy standing near, Terry took a step forward.

“Mark, you’re always welcome here.”

With hand signals, Mark prepped his team to leave. “Yeah, well, seems your boy’s not on enough of a tight leash,” said Mark.

“Watch it, Mark,” said Andy. His eyes never strayed from Spider.

“Watch it my ass! What the hell am I supposed to think about this, huh?” yelled Mark Harmon, “You come out here during my visit all pissed off starting a fight with my new man and you don’t know crap about him!”

“Hmm.”

“Let’s go before I get truly pissed off!” Mark turned his horse and the men gathered up to head back to Nemacolin Resort.

“Hey Mark? Let me ask you a simple question before you head out, okay?”

“Andy, speak clearly for once, dammit!” suggested Mark. His anger was now causing him to visibly shake.

“Any men die the past month or so under, shall we say questionable circumstances?”

Mark’s anger abruptly diminished. His expressions shifted through a fast myriad of emotion, first perplexed, then contemplative, until his anger returned. Seething, he turned in his saddle to study Spider; and several men on horseback did the same. Andy pressed his obvious advantage.

“He’s a snake, Mark. Through and through. Very good at what he does, but deadly in his own way. And, he’ll do anything to take the easy ride to the top.”

“Fuck you asshole,” said Spider, “Let’s get rid of this waste of life, Mark.”

“No. Not me. Get rid of him before you come back to our clan, Mark. That’s all I ask. You and the rest of your men are always welcome. For real. C’mon, T, we’re done here.”

Andy spat on the ground in disgust and turned, placing Terry in front of him facing the cottage. Taking a few steps toward the cottage, he made a subtle hand signal and, if need be, prepared to drop and cover Terry to the ground. The loud shotgun blast propelled Andy to action and he smothered Terry quickly, as he rolled atop her. His gun already out, he began to turn. However, the brutal return volley he expected from his clan in the nearby woods never came; he risked a quick glance at Mark Harmon and Spider.

“You sonofabitch!” yelled Mark Harmon. He racked the shotgun slide for a second shot. However, since half of Spider’s head was gone, a second shot was not necessary. Spider tumbled off his horse. Rising, Andy slowly holstered his Beretta.

“You! It was you who killed Brian and Parkman! You damn sonofabitch!” Harmon emptied another shotgun blast into the still figure on the ground. Mark’s newest burst of profanity was broken only by a few horse snorts. Andy moved toward Mark, standing for a few seconds near his horse. He spoke softly.

“Sorry, Mark… just thought you’d want to know.”

“You do have some concrete proof in what you’re saying, right?”

Andy studied the group on horseback and Spider’s fallen form. “Sounds like you have all the proof you might need, but, yeah, talk to Ry on the subject when you see him.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, him Mark. Heard the condensed story from him. In fact, I’m surprised he let it escalate to the point it did. Probably out of earshot.”

“Brother, he was dead no matter what went down with you today,” said Ryan.

He stood near Andy’s left shoulder, like a ghost slipping through a graveyard.

“Huh… well, here he is Mark. Feel free to ask any further questions.”

Though Ryan held his M-4 pointed to the sky, he kept a guarded eye on the men behind Mark Harmon. Glancing at each of Mark’s men, his brutal intensity conveyed a confidence for any battle risk required. Shifting in his saddle, Mark drew his Ryan’s full attention.

“Ryan.”

Glancing up at the horse, Ryan replied.

“Mark.”

A mutual, though grudging respect passed between them. Andy spoke. “Bro, that’s him, right?”

“Yeah. That’s Bill. The sick bastard.”

Ryan released a measure of the tension in his shoulders. Everybody on horseback took notice.