The Beast Life

            Down by the docks the first rays of the sun began to illuminate a throng of men, all armed, all at attention, waiting for a man of great power. One hundred yards south, the lighthouse keeper lay asleep, as he had had restless night.  After hours of waiting, perched atop the crown of the tower, Crawford saw the first signs of action. Ah there is his limo, I knew he’d be early. His unceasing gaze was focused on the limo, his cross hairs dancing across the passenger window in anticipation of his target. A man in all grey opened the passenger door and stood aside. Out came a tall man just the right height to be him.. He had the same face the same eyes. It’s not him. “El Diablo” doesn’t favor his left leg. Crawford lifted his eyes from the scope, and crained his neck down the stair well of the lighthouse, as the echo of footsteps spiraled to the pinnacle of the lighthouse. Fuck looks like the keepers awake, and coming up. This is cutting it too close. 15 seconds, 20 if I’m lucky. Crawford gripped his rifle tight and loosened every muscle in his body. All his strength was channeling to his brain and eyes, through his scope and into his target. He’s not on the dock. Crawford shifted his gaze out to sea, where a lonely fishing boat was drifting lazily in the surf, not too far from the dock. “Every Fisherman’s already left.” He said aloud as he adjusted his scope to the new distance. The scope steadied, coralled by the muscular arm of the short man in black. The fishermans left arm seems to be limp. His thumbs are anxiously rubbing his pointer finger. Old habits never die. It’s Him. Instanltly Crawford knew that underneath the lone fishermans coat was El Diablo, the second biggest crime lord in South America.  Too bad he wasn’t the first, he made a better employer than Big Bear, but assasins always follow the money. Alright, here we go, baby. Don’t let me down, mamasita. Click.. She fired good and true… and “El Diablo” was no more. As the fisherman disapeared into the blue ocean, the shore remained relatively quiet for no one had heard or seen anything. Crawford quickly dissembled his weapon, strapped up and calmly turned around, walked past the lighthouse keeper and out to his motorcycle and on into the bright morning.

            Crawford arrived at his small apartment by mid-day. He didn’t live there it was just a place he could go to collect his thoughts, and have a moment to himself. He quickly unpacked his gear and placed it carefully beside the only furniture in the place, his brown leather couch, which sat front and center toward a single window. He sat down and let out a sigh as he gazed out on the world from ten stories high. His youthful face showed no signs of fatigue but he was truly exhausted. He ran his large hands through his short black hair, quickly shed his black cloak and track pants but left his beanie on, and thus, in stripped boxers and his little black hat, he fell asleep..

            The next day Crawford rode his motorcycle through the streets, enjoying the slight drizzle, on a cloudy day. His spirits were high, he was going to get paid. Knowing that he had flawlessly completed his task Crawford felt bold so, instead of going around back, like always, Crawford parked in a red zone right out side of Little Hunan on the north side of downtown. His contact was Dre, an old friend who worked out of the back of the restaurant, and took indirect orders from Big Bear. Crawford stepped inside and acknowledged Wong the cook.

            “Take it easy on the MSG, today Wong, nearly killed me last time.”

            “Oh yes, today extra MSG special, didn’t you read the sign?” said Wong with a smile on his round face.

            “Wong, you know I can’t read,” said Crawford jokingly, as he stepped up to the door guard. “No guns, no knifes, I know the deal, hey I’ve never seen you around here before.” Crawford let the thug pat him down.

            “Yea, no shit, I’m new.” The new guy turned around back to his cold meal of rice and spicy chicken.

            “Crawford. You usually come from that way, like you’re supposed to,” said Dre, nodding at the rear door. “Come have a seat. And lock the door after you.”

            “Sure,” but first Crawford poured himself a tall cool glass of Hennessey from Dre’s business occasion mini bar. The room was small, its walls covered in dark red silk. Dre lit a cigar and smoke began to cloud the room, as Crawford scooted his chair in closer to the table.

            “Now’s not the time to celebrate, my friend,” Dre said

            “Hell, why not?” Crawford said throwing up his arms jovially.

            “You should just be extra cautious.”

            “I’ve done everything to the T, there’s no way I’m in danger.”

            “What do you know about El Diablo?” Dre said coolly through his cigar.

            “He’s sleeping with the fishes, I took him out, that’s why I’m here, Dre. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

            Dre leaned in closer over the small table. “Your whole briefing was bogus. El Diablo doesn’t exist. Big Bear needed you to settle a power struggle within his own organization.” Cigar smoke veiled Dre’s face as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, across the table. 

            Crawford was speechless. Smoke covered his vision, he closed his eyes and wiped the tears from his eyes. Fuck. If they have been feeding me lies all this time I know nothing I wonder how much they know about me. Dre went on. “You’re not getting paid shit, in fact there’s a price on your head as we speak. El Diablo was Big Bears delegate to his South American contacts, there will be blood spilled in revenge for this attack.” Dre pointed his cigar at Crawford.

            Crawford edged his chair back, his eyes were bloodshot with irritation. “Did you know this when you gave me the job? I mean if you had known as a friend you should said something or warned me about the what was going on. Dre we’ve known each other for longer than I can remember, and as I recall that you owe me a favor or two.”

            “That was from long ago, before we grew up. Things are different now, everyone has only one thing to look out for; number one.”

            “Way back when, when we first got home,” Crawford faltered, “When we first got home, you said you would take care of everything. You said I could make a good living this way, and repay my gambling debts. I was nieve to trust you, because I know how cruel you are.” We knew each other, we really did, from the vary beginning. After training camp; we had become friends of necessity. He was someone to rely on when the bullets started flying. I can’t believe I ever followed him into this life. After Vietnam I should have gotten a real job, started fresh, I would never have fucked myself over. I never could help from fucking myself over, it’s a nasty habit of mine. Crawford, who hadn’t touched his drink, drained his tall glass in single gulp.

            “So now you’re thirsty,” Dre laughed. Crawford sensed a tone of aggression in Dre’s laugh. Crawford barely felt the burn of alcohol,  as he was already seething with anger; at himself, at Dre, but mostly at himself. Deep down inside Crawford knew that he had to stop this lifestyle. He couldn’t keep killing people, but this was out of necessity, before it was for money. He hadn’t really looked for a real job when he came back to the States. He went back to his parents house, he couldn’t go back to college, that life was lost. He needed a job and killing was the only one he had ever known, not out of necessity, but for profit. But now Crawford is mixed up in the middle of an internal gang struggle, and the only way to escape the room that he sat in on that day, was to kill Dre.

            Crawford guessed the table was maybe only four feet long. As Crawford thought, the convorsation dwindled, both men were sizing one another up. Each was searching for a weakness in the other. Crawford sighed, defeated. Dre had the home court advantage, he probably had gun, and Crawford, had no weapons at all. Crawford got up and decided to grab another drink. Something more potent will do it.

            “Well, I guess there is nothing I can do to Big Bear, or his associates,” Crawford said while grabbing a bottle of Everclear. “You’re never going to let me leave this restaurant alive.”

            “You’ve grown wise to the situation,” Dre said mockingly. The cigar ignited his face in the dimly lit room.

            “You don’t mind if I have a smoke before I die,” Crawford set the 151 down on the table with a loud clack.

            “Well old friend I wouldn’t deny you this last pleasure take one from my box.”

            Crawford reached across the table and took a single cigar.

            “You still smoke these things, man,” Crawford said looking at the cigar like it was his last super.

            “Need a light,” said Dre.

            “Thanks,” said Crawford. Dre strikes a match. Quicky Crawford takes a swig of the everclear and, in a split second, spits the 95 percent alcohol through the flame and on to Dre’s face. The flaming liquid splashed his face then splattered on to his chest and arms. But there was a little life left in Dre, the first thing that Dre reached for was his gun, as Dre burned to death he managed to shoot Crawford. Crawford knew that the both of them should have died in war many times and it seemed to make sense to Crawford as he lay dying, that the two of them would die in violence. Crawford also thought about his life, and how he could never live the normal life after Vienam. He wished he had.