He never fathomed that a punk kid who’d picked his pocket on the streets of Los Angeles when they were teenagers would become his closest and most trusted friend.
The rest of the park was virtually deserted by design.
A college-aged couple lay on the grass in the distance, oblivious to anyone and anything but each other. An older woman sat on a bench, taking a nap underneath the warm rays of the sun.
The Colonel’s legion of bodyguards had secured the area to give him private time with his grandchildren. The eight men were at a suitable distance, subtly dissuading but not denying other locals access to the park.
This was The Colonel’s turf. A dangerous and perfect place to complete the mission. The town had been trained to see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. No matter how many witnesses there would be to the outcome, none would speak up. None would identify the assailants because they’d been taught not to by The Colonel himself.
“Permission to proceed,” Ike said into the comms.
Static filled the line.
Sebastian shifted on his blanket and stretched, placing his book into a backpack. The backpack filled with tear gas to aid in their escape from the area.
“Granted.” The response was like a cannon, sending Ike hurtling into a dark abyss.
He slid his sunglasses from his face and pushed them into his back pocket, exchanging them for the butterfly knife. He maneuvered the blade along his forearm, covered by the sleeve of his linen shirt. A soccer ball rolled toward his feet. Picking it up, he tossed it at a young boy.
“Thank you,” the kid said, giving him a wide toothless grin.
Ike smiled back, feeling no guilt or remorse for what he was about to do. He kept walking across the lush green grass, reducing the distance between him and The Colonel, who was watching over the playing kids like a proud grandfather. In his periphery, he detected the attention of two of the bodyguards. They were watching him. Alert.
The Colonel sensed his presence when he was within twenty feet and looked at him.
Ike’s face hardened as he tilted his head at the man.
“Not in front of my grandchildren,” The Colonel said calmly without any signs of distress.
“It’s the only option.” The butterfly knife slid down into Ike’s hand. He gripped it tightly, slashed The Colonel’s throat, and plunged it into the man’s heart. The cries and screams of the children mingled with the deafening shots from automatic rifles. Bullets whizzed around him, bright orange fire blasts pelting the ground as he ran for cover.
A cloak of gas surrounded Ike.
Day turned to the blackest night.
He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t move.
Smoke scratched at his lungs, burning fire.
Pain rumbled through his body.
Each tremor was more intense than before.
Sharp daggers pierced his chest with every breath.
The scream caught in his throat refused to press through his lips.
He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. They were too heavy.
This wasn’t how it happened.
This wasn’t what he remembered.
Something was off.
Muffled voices surrounded him.
Familiar frantic voices.
