Tuesday, July 24, 2007

                                                                                         Killer Joe

My name is Joe, that’s what I tell everyone. If anybody knew my real name I’d have to kill them. Killing comes easy, no emotion or conscience stops me. Yeah, killing comes real easy for me. I was trained by the U.S.M.C. to kill and kill quick and silent. I’m a big guy, 6,4 and 195 solid pounds. When the drill sergeant saw my size and strength he picked me for special training. After extensive psychological testing “You’re just the guy we’re looking for,” the sergeant told me.
This is what led to me having to conceal my real name. I was just doing my sworn duty and now the police worldwide are looking for me because I did what I was trained to do.
After training I received my first assignment and it was to kill a V.I.P. They wouldn’t tell me whom I’d be killing. I was provided with a location and an exact time. Whoever was standing in the spot they showed me at exactly 9: P. M. would be shot through the head by me. The time came and I did my duty.
I was good and hardly ever saw my victim’s face. Sometimes I was required to get close enough to stab or garrote them. In these instances I always tried to approach the victim from the rear, so I wouldn’t need to see the life draining from their eyes as I killed them.
It was amazing how many I killed for Uncle Sam. If the populace knew how many of its citizens our government was killing there would be riots throughout the country. But I know the citizens of this country are afraid of their government. Because of the work I do, I know they have good reason to be afraid.
I received a new assignment and the location was in my hometown. It didn’t occur to me that I might actually know the victim. I just went there to do my job as usual. I watched a tall man approaching the killing spot. His walk reminded me of someone I knew, but I shrugged it off as imagination. The temperature was close to the freezing point and the victim had his collar turned up as he approached so I couldn’t see his face.
He stepped into the spot at the appointed time. My orders were to perform a close in knife kill. My place wasn’t to question why, but to do or die. I crept up behind him and when I got close enough, I drove my knife deep into his heart as he turned to look at me. I saw the look of disbelief cross his face as the life drained from my brother’s eyes.
Did someone do this purposely? Have me kill my own brother? I don’t have a conscience but killing him really upsets me. One of the few people in this life that I thought was worth anything and I just killed him. I instinctively knew this was set up for some purpose and whoever ordered this kill knew I’d be killing my brother. I decided right then and there to get even.
I never knew who made the decisions to take some ones life, but I knew it came right from the top. The top being the president of the United States, and I knew I could get to him. He was due in Dallas and that’s where I headed to get ready for his visit.
I shot him in the head. He was hit three times and I only fired one bullet. I guessed someone else had picked the same spot and time to do what I did. At the time, I thought this was a logical explanation.
My mind wanders back to my first kill, it was Chicago’s coldest day of the year and I was shivering on a rooftop waiting for the victim to arrive at the spot at 51st and Drexel Avenue. The Chicago wind was blowing the falling snow into high drifts. As I waited, I watched the road crews trying but not succeeding in keeping the roads clear. I got so cold I started shaking and I wondered if I’d be able to hit my target while shivering? For the first time ever I thought I may miss.
I see my victim and it’s a woman, I aim and slowly pull the trigger. I don’t miss. I tell myself that I’m a good soldier and I need to do what I’m told and not question why. So what if I killed a woman? Now I’m wondering if that kill was some kind of psychological test to see how far I’d go for them? With all this psych. Shit I’m thinking maybe they knew exactly what I’d do when they set me up to murder my own brother?
I don’t want to believe it but the more I think about it, I believe I did just what they wanted me to do, kill the president. Now I’m wanted worldwide for shooting him, and when I remember that he was hit with two bullets I didn’t shoot, the set up becomes obvious.
The whole thing shouts CIA and I’m on the next flight to D.C. I know these CIA guys and where they hang out. That’s where I go and get hired as a waiter at their favorite restaurant, “The Hideaway.” Of course my training included recognition avoidance and I knew exactly how to change my appearance so I wouldn’t be identified by anyone.
I’m working there for a week and suddenly on a warm sunny day my luck kicks in. Today is the director’s birthday and all his flunkies are throwing a party for him at The Hideaway.
I was ready, I had searched on the Internet for days before I found the perfect biological toxin that I could simply add to the food and every one of those bastards would be infected and all would die a slow and painful death. As they were dying I’d have time to call every one of them to speak my true name, and wish them a happy journey to Hell.
The restaurant is lavishly decorated for this occasion. The CIA bunch came all at once with their families. I’m surprised, where did they find women stupid enough to marry CIA agents? The kids bother me a little until I remember all the kid’s deaths the CIA is responsible for.
All the food has the toxin in it already and I know if I don’t want to see all these innocent women and kids die I can simply pull the fire alarm and the restaurant would be evacuated and when the sprinklers turned on all the food would be ruined. I’m thinking of pulling the handle, I remember the look in my brother’s eyes as he realized it was me killing him and the life draining from his watery blue eyes as he died in my arms.
I gaze out the window and watch the clouds float across the sky while thinking how good it feels, knowing these CIA guys are going to get similar looks from their wives and kids as they died.
Time to serve the food and I push the cart full of infected food into the dining area. The fire alarm is right by the door and its red color seems to be calling me. I push my cart beside the alarm; look at the handle that could save all these lives, and proceed to the dining room and start serving.
They all died, slow and painful like I wanted, their wives and kids all died too. I called every one of them so they’d know who killed them and the very last one to die told me, “The Vice President is the one who wanted the president assassinated, not the CIA.” Now I knew who had set me up. Too bad I killed all those CIA guys and their families, but what is done is done and I can’t let it bother me.
Now I had another president I needed to kill and I knew I would make the history books, because I’d be the first man ever to kill two presidents.
I moved to NYC where I could hide in the crowds while I planned to kill my second president. I know he frequently uses doubles and I sure don’t want to kill one of them by mistake.
There’s a loud roar and when I look out the window the sky is filled with helicopters. Several are circling the hotel I’m staying in. I immediately run down the stairs and exit through a rear door and watch from across the street as black clad special-forces personnel rappel onto the roof of my hotel while others who have arrived in armored vehicles enter through the front doors. Somehow they found out where I was staying.
I casually mingle with the crowd and work my way over to Broadway. I found a computer store there that stocked all the latest electronic devices and software. I asked one of the geeks to demonstrate the best face recognition software he has. “This is brand new and is so good it can tell identical twins apart,” he said.
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Yeah, just watch this,” he demonstrated how accurately the software distinguished between similar looking faces.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Willie, Willie Smith.”
“Willie, how would you like to make yourself a few thousand bucks for an hours work?”
“Depends,” he said, “if you’re not some kind of freak I might be interested.”
I’m wondering if he would think an assassin is “some kind of freak?
“All I want you to do is use that software to pick out the real president and show me how I can tell the real guy from his doubles. I handed him seventy two photos of the president, all taken in the last week.”
“O.K. deal,” Willie said, he proceeded to scan all the photos into a computer and within minutes he was smiling as he pointed out what I needed to know.
“See the mole on the right ear lobe? You’ll be able to tell if it’s real or painted on by its texture and shape. Also the president has a drooping eyelid that the makeup guys can’t duplicate.”
“You’re sure that’s him and I’ll be able to tell the difference?”
“Sure I’m sure, but you’re going to have to get close enough to him to see these slight defects.”
I knew I couldn’t get that close, but my telescopic sight or even a good set of binoculars would bring him close enough for identification. I paid Willie and I now had the information I needed to be sure I killed the right guy and not some double.
It came on the news before I even left the store that the president was going to Canada in a few weeks. Great spot to kill him I thought. Who’d ever expect an assassination attempt in Canada? I went to my safe box for cash and a new passport with a new name and I bought a used car so I could drive there. After seeing how accurate the face recognition software had become I knew I had to keep my face away from cameras, and I was sure the airports would be crawling with them.
The president’s agenda while visiting was public knowledge, and he was going to visit the largest mosque in Canada. I decided that’s where I’ll take him out. I started attending daily services so I could explore the place without arousing suspicions. Of course I disguised myself with a thick beard to help me fit in.
Listening to the nightly prayers got to be a pain in the ass, but I kneeled and prayed every night. I never had a Muslim friend, so I knew little about the culture. Actually I’ve never had any friends, never wanted any.
I knew the Mosque would be thoroughly searched and gone over with bomb sniffing dogs and explosive detection devices. There wouldn’t be a chance of shooting him. I went online and found a map of the city’s sewer system. The sewers were built large enough to handle the large amounts of heavy snowmelt. They were large enough to walk in. There was a sewer line that ran right under the mosque. I know they’ll never search the sewers, what they do is block them off during a security alert. I planted enough explosives under the mosque to demolish the whole block. As soon as I determined it was the actual president I’d just press the button on the remote and he’d be gone in a flash.
He came to the mosque on a freezing Canadian night and standing in the crowd waiting for him I use a small set of opera glasses to be able to identify the mole and droopy eyelid and sure enough it’s him, the real president. I put my finger on the button. Suddenly a crowd of school kids runs into the mosque cheering the president. My finger hesitates I don’t want to kill so many totally innocent kids. I don’t understand why I hesitate, my finger is trembling, I will it to press the button but it doesn’t move. I guess I’m getting soft, can’t even blow up a bunch of kids. Then I smile when I think of how I’ll be able to get close enough to the president to kill him with my bare hands… Then I remember the look of betrayal on my brother’s face and the light going out of his eyes. My training takes over and I rationalize that the crazy Muslims blow up their own kids all the time as I press the button. The debris of falling body parts and pieces of the mosque injures many in the crowd of observers. I was hit with a small piece of falling cement and received a minor cut above my left eye. Bright red blood poured from the laceration and covered my face. I’m hoping the blood will aid in disguising my well-known face as a local photographer takes my picture. I remember how well the new software works and I can’t take that chance. I follow the photographer as he walks through snow that has begun falling. He puts a key into the door lock of an older Blue Nissan and I silently creep up behind him and put my knife to his throat and say in Arabic, Allāhu Akbar, God is greatest as I relieve him of his camera and apply crippling pressure to a point I know will disable him for a few minutes and I slowly walk away.
I destroy the camera completely, burning the memory card, breaking the camera itself into a hundred pieces and dispersing all the pieces into different locations. I wanted to be sure my face didn’t show up anywhere.
The photographer told of my muttering and the blame for blowing up the mosque was blamed on Canadian Jhadist and there was talk of invading Canada to root out the terrorist in that country.
I drove on to Alaska where I knew not many questions were asked of strangers and I could sit back and watch the coming invasion on TV and really enjoy myself. After Canada became part of the United States a senate investigation revealed the whole episode of assasinating the presidents was conceived by the Homeland Security Administration by using an unnamed person brainwashed by the USMC who was programmed to do exactly what he did. I guess that person was me and I decide it’s time to get even again and I start packing…