The Paladin Book 1 Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Tuesday

November 23rd

I got up that morning more tired than normal. I went pretty hard the previous night trying to impress Samantha and was definitely feeling it. I went through my morning routine, same time as I always did, grabbed a breakfast bar and headed out the door. More than anything I wanted to head out to that storage facility and bust some heads. However, I knew that skipping school would just cause more problems, for the time being, the storage facility had to wait. I made my way to school a little bit earlier than normal that day, I couldn’t be bothered with Tyler, Max, and Theo at the moment. Unfortunately, on my way to homeroom, I ran into Alicia who looked pretty cross with me.

“Where the hell were you, Booker? My dad said that you didn’t show up yesterday, got all bitchy with me about you standing him up," she brought up. I sighed, realizing that I was going to have to face the music.

“Thank your dad for me Alicia, but I don’t think it's a good idea,” I made clear.

“He’s going to be disappointed, he said he liked you, and he doesn’t like many people," she mentioned. I gave her a skeptical look.

“Are you not mad at me for snapping at you yesterday?” I asked.

“Booker I know the difference between an asshole and someone who’s just having a bad day," she pointed out.

“And I’m not an asshole in this situation?” I posed, not knowing where we stood.

“I don’t know the whole story Booker, I’d imagine those guys have been up to this for a while now, but it's not my place to pry. Whatever it is, don’t let them take away your passion, that’s how they win," she insisted. With that, she headed off to her homeroom and I went to mine. She was right, I shouldn’t give up my passion just because life got difficult, but sometimes it just wasn’t worth it.

I pressed on through the day, and though it was tedious and boring I managed to get through it, avoiding Tyler, Max, and Theo all the while. I spent most of my classes formulating a plan for infiltrating the facility. Samantha, Johnny, and I had established we were going to strike immediately after school; we didn’t know what the people were being used for so we had to assume time was a factor. So immediately following dismissal I headed out to the parking lot where Johnny and Samantha were already waiting in her truck.

“Little early aren’t you? Thought you guys got out a half hour from now?” I pointed out, checking the time on my phone.

“We’re gonna break into a storage facility and dispense some vigilante justice, and you're questioning us cutting class?” Johnny replied. I shrugged, realizing he had a good point, then pulled myself into the car. The drive didn’t take long, route nine ran just outside of Tar City and before we knew it we were across the street from Weiss Storage Facilities. Samantha had made sure to park about a mile away per my suggestion. I didn’t want any guards or security cameras picking up the license plate number. The facility looked empty, and there was an eerie silence about the whole place that made me uneasy. The three of us scaled the fence, sneaking through the facility just in case there were any guards patrolling the area. After a few minutes of sneaking around, we came upon the largest of the warehouses which was closest to the entrance. The three of us stacked up around the corner then I slowly peeked around, realizing that the place was empty.

“Goddamnit!” I cursed kicking a nearby rock, the sole inhabitant of the warehouse.

“Hold on,” Johnny said, noticing something in the warehouse. He had picked out a small piece of paper that was resting on the floor in the center of the warehouse. He meandered over and picked it up, scanning over it. “Says, we know,” he read. I turned pale, realizing that they knew we were coming.

“We got to get the hell out of here,” I ordered. Suddenly I heard the screeching of tires and the sounds of boots hitting the ground. The three of us sprinted out the main entrance, seeing just one heavily armed man emerge, he was one of the SEALs, between the SCAR H and the full set of 5A body armor, there was no doubt about it. He opened fire, luckily the first few shots pinged off my shield, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he got a lucky shot in and tagged one of them. We managed to take cover behind the side of the warehouse but it wouldn’t last for long.

“Who is that guy? He’s armed like a goddamn marine!” Johnny demanded.

“You're not too far off the mark,” I assured. He was going to loop around in a wide arc around the building and try to get a better position, it’s what I would’ve done and more importantly according to Gerry’s teachings it's what a soldier would do. He had the superior firepower so once he got into the superior position we were done for.

“You two make a break for the woods, I’ll take him out,” I insisted.

“You think we’re going to leave you out here to get shot to shit, dream on," Samantha replied.

“Those bullets will chew through your kevlar in two shots if you’re lucky, and last I checked assault rifle beats revolver. Now Johnny, lay down some cover fire and make a break for the woods. I’ve got this, go!” I ordered. Johnny drew his pistol and the two made a mad dash for the back fence, firing off a few shots as he did. The SEAL wasn’t phased by this and took no pause in lining up his shot on the two of them. As he was about to pull the trigger when I burst from cover and charged him, holding up my shield to ward off the incoming bullets. The tungsten core rounds would cut through the steel and titanium, I knew it was inevitable. All I needed was for my suit’s integrity to last until I got on top of him. I sprinted full tilt at him, his aim quickly adjusted to me, and he pulled the trigger. The force of the bullets alone almost stopped me in my tracks at first but I kept going. Twenty-five feet, twenty feet, ten, five, my armor had lasted just long enough to reach him and that’s when the real fight began. I barreled into him, knocking him to the ground, immediately following up with a downward swing with my mace but he blocked it with his gun. A round fired off accidentally but it didn’t matter as the barrel had been warped by the blow, rendering it useless. He quickly drew an M9 from his belt, managing to squeeze off a couple rounds. Dodging the first round and blocking the second, I smacked the pistol out of his hands, causing it to clatter off into the warehouse. Lastly, he drew a standard issue marine Kabar from a shoulder sheath and took a quick probing jab which I blocked. He might have been a soldier, but close-quarters-combat was my domain. I launched a flurry of swings, each nearly catching him as he narrowly dodged. On the last swing he took his opportunity and seized my arm, it was a smart move, he was stronger than me and now he had control of my arm. He went in for a jugular stab but I ducked under and drilled him with the edge of my shield across the jaw. I didn’t give him any time to recover, I needed this fight over. I tackled him to the ground, pinning his knife arm to the ground with my shield and firing off heavy blows to his face with loaded punches, drawing more and more blood with each fist. Despite the adept maneuver, he was still stronger than me and he was still very well trained. He elbowed me off with a shot to the face, then tackled me to the ground. After unloading a few more painful punches to my face he went for a downward plunge with his knife. I slid the shield in-between us offering enough of a buffer for the knife not to reach the chink in my armor. I freed up one of my hands and swung the mace around, smacking him in the back. This stunned him long enough to get him off me with an up kick and get to my feet. I didn’t waste any time taking a breath, he was hurt and I wasn’t (or at least wasn’t as much as he was). I needed to press the advantage. I continued with the heavy swings, this time he didn’t have the stamina to dodge every one and was smacked with a powerful blow to the shoulder. Crack! There goes his rotator cuff. He crumpled to the ground in agony, dropping the knife, attempting to pick it up with his remaining good hand. I kneed him in the face and kicked away the knife, resting the mace under his chin.

“You gonna brain me with that thing or just think about doing it? Least have the balls to finish the job," he goaded, sucking in some air just to finish his sentence.

“I’ve got questions, you’ve got answers. First one, name?” I panted.

“Really?" he replied, unimpressed. I looked down to his neckline where I saw a chain glinting above his collar.

“Hmm,” I murmured. I knelt down and grabbed a hold of him, he struggled against me but with only one good arm he couldn’t do much. I snagged the necklace off of him and held it up to reveal dog tags. Andrew Knox. “Guess that one was kind of a gimme,” I commented. In spite, he spat out the tooth I must have knocked loose in the fight. Aimed at my face, the molar pinging off my helmet. “Next question, who do you work for?” I asked, switching into a squat, ignoring the tooth.

“Kiss. My. Ass,” he replied. Things weren’t getting anywhere, he was rock solid, I wasn’t going to threaten him into talking. He was a Navy SEAL, for Christ's sake. I looked around, there was no one, Johnny and Samantha were probably halfway to the truck by that point, no one was watching, just me and him. I pushed him flat to the ground, pressing one boot on his good arm, making sure he wouldn’t use it on me, then pressed my knee on his bad shoulder. He bellowed in agony from his shattered shoulder being ground into the socket.

“I’m about done with people giving me lip when I’m asking them questions,” I retorted. He cackled with a crimson leer as his gums oozed red. “Talk!” I ordered, putting more pressure on his shoulder. He screamed once more, his voice deadened by the nearby surrounding woods.

“Funny, this was kinda like what I was doing to Byron last night," he chuckled.

“What?” I questioned.

“Let’s just say Byron didn’t make it home to Sylvia and little Adrian," he clarified.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Read between the lines, dip shit, Byron bought the farm and you sold it to him. We picked him up last night and had a little chat with him, how do you think we knew you were coming?" he made clear. It hit me harder than any punch, it was more painful than any stab. I was immobilized, all the blood escaped my face as I registered what I had heard. Knox knew it would throw me off, and he used his opportunity. He wrenched his good arm out from under me and reached for a knife he held sheathed in his boot. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t that careless, and not only that but I was mad. Before he could lay his fingers on the knife I smashed him in the face with a right cross. I tossed aside my shield and mace and started wailing on him, right, left, right, left, right, right, right, right…

“COME ON!” I bellowed. I quickly stopped myself, seeing his face had been mangled as he lay dazed, unconscious, and bloody on the ground. I booted my mace across the asphalt in frustration. How could I be so careless? I zip-tied his wrists and his ankles together to ensure he really wasn’t going anywhere. Then I searched through his pockets, finding his phone tucked in one of his kevlar vest pouches. Lucky for me he had a Tech-Sync ICE, and SyncWare phones by default used biometric fingerprint scans for passwords. Better for security is what they said, not for me. I took off one of his gloves and swiped his print, allowing me full access to his phone for the moment, eventually it was going to die and I’d be shit out of luck. So I needed to take the opportunity while I had it. I scanned through his limited number of messages when I came upon an unlisted number in his text messages. The client wants us to take out the wife, they want to send a message, I’ll take care of it but I want someone on lookout, meet me at Southside high-rise on Baker Street at six, apartment 102, police will be done taking her statement, they still think it was a mugging gone wrong. I quickly called 911, making up some fishy story about a drug deal happening at Weiss storage facilities and then rushed off towards the truck, calling Samantha and Johnny as I did.

“Guy’s down and I checked his phone but Byron’s wife is now a target, they’re going after them in two hours, we gotta get back to Tar City,” I stressed.

“I’m pulling around," she replied. From down the road, I heard the screeching of tires as Samantha and Johnny came gunning down the main stretch, stopping short in front of me. “What’s the plan?" Samantha asked, opening the door as she pulled in.

“Get to the Southside high rise on Baker Street,” I answered. She pulled out and gunned it down the road, trying to get to the high rises as soon as possible.

Between the traffic and the generally poor layout of Tar City’s streets, it took us until five fifty to get to the Southside high-rise, with another five minutes tacked on the end from stair climbing. I knocked on Byron and Sylvia’s door and after a momentary pause, an older African American woman came to the door. She didn’t look anything like the girl from the picture, maybe he got the wrong apartment number. It must have been the confused look on my face because she already had a response cued up.

“You looking for Sylvia?" she asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Poor girl, I’m looking after Adrian for a little bit while she goes to the Laundromat around the corner, girl needs a little bit of time alone if you ask me," she lamented with a shake of her head.

“The twenty-five cent one right?” I confirmed. She nodded. Suddenly I got a buzz in my pocket, it was the SEAL’s phone. Where are you? Wife went to the laundromat, I’m going after her. “You two stay here and look after the kid, I’m gonna find Sylvia,” I ordered.

“Now what in the hell is going on here?” The woman inquired.

“I’m sorry ma'am I really can’t explain right now,” I assured, splitting down the hall to the stairwell.

“Then how about you two?" she pressed, raising an eyebrow to Johnny and Samantha, who gulped anxiously. I didn’t have time to worry about explaining what was going on to the woman. Sylvia was in danger and I owed it to Byron to save her. I wasn’t going to let his kid grow up as an orphan because of my mistake. I flew down the stairwell, jumping the last four steps of every flight, banking around the corners and slamming into the walls with reckless abandon. I made it out the door of the high-rise in a matter of minutes, peeling down the street as soon as I did, spotting the glowing laundromat sign contrasting against the night sky. I sprinted down the street, bursting into the laundromat, puffed out from the running. There was Sylvia, with her headphones in, standing in the back right corner. No one suspicious in the laundromat though, just another woman about Sylvia’s age sorting through her own laundry, no SEAL yet. I needed to get her out, it was only a matter of time before the guy showed up and I had no desire to fight another one of America’s finest, especially without my armor and with nothing but a pocket knife to protect me. I tapped Sylvia’s shoulder, and she turned around pulling out an earbud.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?" Sylvia asked. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her voice was shaky, it didn’t take a detective to figure out she was pretty distraught.

“I’m sorry to do this to you but I knew your husband Byron, he was-”. I was cut off by a twisted up shirt being wrapped around my throat and tugged back, cutting off my air supply. Suddenly I felt a stomp to the back of my knee forcing me down and tightening the hold. I held the choke at bay for a bit, tucking my hands under the cloth creating a buffer, but my opponent had the leverage.

“Oh my God!” Sylvia screamed. I looked back and it was the young woman who was on the opposite side of the laundromat, now putting all her body weight into choking me out. Wow, I didn’t know they were letting women in the SEALs, that’s so progressive I thought as my face started to turn purple. I loosened one of my hands, risking strengthening the choke for a free hand, then I grabbed my knife from my pocket, but I was losing my bearings quickly. Unfortunately for me, she had the knife scouted and pinned down the hand with the knife in it. I only had one last ditch plan to save Sylvia. With all my might I got to my feet, lifted the woman off the ground and threw her over my shoulder onto a nearby washing machine with a sickening thud. Now that my hands were freed I flicked out the blade and plunged downwards, but the woman grabbed me at the wrist, holding the sharp edge at bay. She then transitioned into a triangle choke, attempting to pry the knife out of my hands. I grabbed by the back of her head with my free hand, then with a heave, I lifted her up and swung her around, slamming her into the corner of the nearby dryer. Ding!

“Oh Jesus Christ,” I panted. The woman didn’t even take the time to wince, shooting at my legs for a takedown. Driving me into the same washer as before, causing the knife to drop and tumble away. I stopped her in her tracks and retaliated with a right hook. She dipped under and stuck me with a left hook to the kidney that knocked the wind out of me, then hit me with a right hook of her own to the jaw that left my head spinning, finishing it all off push kicking me in the solar plexus. It wasn’t enough. I staggered back against the washer but came hauling back with a quick left jab followed by a heavy right cross that caught her on the chin causing fall straight on her butt. Whoever said size doesn’t matter in a fight never clearly never got hit with a cross that had fifty pounds of extra muscle behind it. She got to her feet and launched a few more punches but her equilibrium was shot and I slipped under her strikes easily, setting me up for a mean left hook to the jaw. Her knees buckled but she recovered quickly, shooting for another takedown, trying to make up for her haziness. But I stuffed her head down and wrapped my arms around her throat and wrenched with all my might. Her fists connected my ribs, one after the other, but I was lifting her off the ground so she couldn’t get enough power. We could both sense her options escaping her when suddenly she pulled out a grenade from her hip. Tall, tubular, not like a normal HE grenade. No time to look at it!

“Oh shit,” I muttered. She yanked the pin, and dropped it to the ground, sprinting out as soon as she did. “Get down!” I yelled, diving on top of the grenade. BANG! Whiteness. Am I dead? No, I wasn’t dead, but I wished I was. It was just a flashbang, but that didn’t make it suck any less. Taking one of those point blank makes you feel like you were ear-to-barrel with a cannon, while simultaneously pressing your eyeballs into the brightest flashlight you’ve ever seen. Oh that future tinnitus! I stumbled around to my feet, my ears still ringing from the grenade. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!” I yelled. She turned to me and said something, to this day I couldn’t tell you what it was but I just nodded and led her back to her apartment.

I sat Sylvia down for the next part, having Johnny, Samantha, and her neighbor leave and told her what had happened to Byron, not hiding anything from her, not even my persona. I could only imagine how crazy it must have sounded to her, but she seemed to believe me, I did save her life after all. It was nerve-wracking, putting my trust in a complete stranger, but in the end, I didn’t regret telling her the story, it seemed to give her some solace and that’s all I could ask for.

“I knew something was going on with him, I figured he was getting back in the life. We met in prison... I mean I met him while he was in prison, I was one of the nurses. Ever since that day I knew that life was always going to be a part of him, but I didn’t think it was going to do this to him. At least he died making the world a better place, doing something good. I’d like to think that’s how he wanted to go out," she replied, doing her best to cope with it.

“I know I can’t bring back your husband Sylvia. And I can’t give Adrian a father. But this is on me and I’m going to make this right. Whoever hired these people I’m going after them and I’m going to take them down,” I assured. She nodded and wiped a tear from her eye. “I know the last thing you want to do right now is run away but you're gonna have to leave town, just until I finish this. That means you’re gonna need to use an alias and you're on radio silence, the only person you answer the phone for is me, you prepare your own meals and you don’t answer your door unless you know the person, okay? And even still you shouldn’t risk it if you don’t have to. You won’t have to worry about her coming back to the apartment for now but that will change in a couple days,” I instructed.

“Why can’t we go to the police, I mean it seems like you know a lot about the guys who killed my husband, maybe the police can take it from here?" she offered.

“I don’t have any proof, your husband was the only one who had any connection to these bastards and I can guarantee that the assassins will never flip. I’m gonna have to follow the trail to the top and cut the head off the snake,” I explained. She paused, sniffling, wiping her eyes, but after a moment of thought, she spoke.

“You seem like a good kid Booker, and I’ve got no right to ask you this. But if you find the man who did this, I want you to kill him. I want you to kill him and make sure he stays dead. Because from what you’ve told me he’s too dangerous to be left alive," she insisted. She was right. If ever there was a person who didn’t deserve to live in this world it would be whoever was calling the shots. Slavery, having Byron killed, having assassins sent to kill Sylvia who knew nothing, this person deserved death, but I didn’t know if I was willing to be the one to do it.

“I’ll make it right,” I promised, getting up from the chair I was sitting in. She got up with me and I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m gonna be outside until you leave, just in case. I don’t think she’ll come back though, now that I’ve seen her face she’s gonna lay low for a bit,” I informed. She nodded, heading off to Adrian’s room to start packing up. I headed out to the front of the apartment, opening the door to find Johnny and Samantha each pressing an ear to the door. “Rude to eavesdrop,” I pointed out.

“We can handle this Book, you fought off two crazy assassins today and managed to come out alive, I’d take that as a win," Samantha assured.

“Thanks but this is my burden to bear, I gotta take responsibility for my actions,” I made clear.

“Yeah well last I checked we signed on too, we were there with Byron and we didn’t stop you. This is on us as much as it is on you,” Johnny countered.

“It’s different and you know it. This was my case and I got Byron killed because of a stupid mistake, worse than that a foreseeable mistake. I’m not doing that again,” I replied.

“Let us help you!" she insisted.

“I don’t want your help!” I snapped. Suddenly I started to feel dizzy and my legs started to tremble. What tastes like pennies? I felt under my nose, pulling away a crimson moist finger that was starting to blur as I stared at it. “Shit,” I muttered, my legs giving out from me, my vision going dark.

I woke up to the binding sensation of a band-aid wrapped snug over my nose. Then a moment after I realized my own consciousness I sat bolt upright, looking around frantically, noticing that I was in a completely foreign environment. Where the hell am I? It looked to be a cheap apartment and based on the noise of traffic I figured it was in Midtown. I did a full three-sixty degree scan of the room, noticing Samantha sitting across from me on an oversized recliner with her legs in lotus position as she did homework on her laptop that was propped up on her legs. As soon as she noticed me sit up she immediately hopped to her feet and rushed over, kneeling next to me. She gently pushed me back down on my stack of pillows with one hand, while she lowered my back with the other. This is a lot more physical contact than I’m used to, I thought as my heart started to beat faster.

“Calm down Booker, you’re at Johnny and my safehouse. You’re alright but you need to sleep, you’ve got a minor concussion, three bruised ribs, a pulled trapezius, and a hell of a lot of cosmetic damage, which luckily for you was the cause of that nosebleed. Sylvia's diagnosis, not mine. Now I texted your mom and told her your phone died and that you were staying at my house for dinner so you don’t have to worry about getting home for a couple of hours," Samantha informed. My eyes opened wide and my body turned pale in realization.

“Where’s Sylvia?” I asked anxiously.

“She took your advice and left town with a friend from college, someone she hasn’t seen in years, whoever is after her is going to have a hard time finding her and Adrian there," she assured. I sighed in relief, laying myself back down onto the couch, at least there was some good news to be had. My feelings of relief were quickly overshadowed by the guilt felt deep in the pit of my stomach. I had gotten her husband killed. Not only that but I almost got her and her son killed. I was worthless, worse than worthless, I was the problem. “Stop that," Samantha chided, sensing my internal dialogue with uncanny accuracy.

“What?” I questioned, looking up to her.

“Stop blaming yourself for Byron, I can see those wheels turning in your head right now. You couldn’t have known that they were on our trail," she elaborated.

“I could’ve been more cautious, I chose to act carelessly. I got a witness killed, almost got his family killed, almost got you and Johnny killed, and for what? Being cocky, that’s what,” I retorted, more angered with myself than her.

“You didn’t get Byron killed, alright? But someone did, and not just whoever pulled the trigger. Someone ordered him dead, and we’re going to find that person and make them pay," she made clear. She was right of course, I owed it to Sylvia to bust this guy so that she and her son could come home safe. I removed Samantha’s hands from my shoulders, and with a swift heave I pulled myself up from the couch and got to my feet. Pain shot through my side and a light-headedness rushed my brain, I felt like I’d been crushed by a steamroller. “Booker!" she exclaimed. I planted my feet and gritted my teeth, overcoming the onset of pain and dizziness for a moment until I became adjusted to it.

“You’re right Samantha, I can’t blame myself for what happened to Byron. But I can’t sit on my ass either. I gotta get back out there see if I can chase down any new leads so that Sylvia, Adrian, and everyone else that got screwed by this guy can live out their lives without looking over their shoulder,” I agreed, gingerly pacing over to my boots and bag which were tucked at the foot of the couch. I bent over with a wince of pain and started lacing up my boots slowly.

“You’re not good to anyone dead," she reminded.

“Then it's a good thing I’m not dead yet,” I pointed out, getting to my feet and taking a step towards the door. Samantha got in my way and halted me with a hand pressed gently against my chest, much the same as she did earlier.

“You might not be but you keep going like this and you will be," she commented.

“I’ll walk it off,” I dismissed, trying to navigate around her without barreling through her. Every time I moved, however, she would shift in front of me, like a bad hallway run-in.

“Johnny is hitting the streets as we speak trying to get some information on these guys. You don’t need to be out there,” she protested. I kept on trying but she kept on moving in my way, only adding fuel to the fire of my frustration.

“Samantha, get out of the way please,” I requested calmly, trying a little honey before the vinegar.

“Not going to happen," she made clear. I wasn’t surprised, Samantha was a rather willful person so the notion of her moving because I asked nicely was a Hail Mary at best.

“I’m not asking,” I replied.

“Yeah, and I’m telling you. Not. Going. To. Happen," she reiterated, stalwart in her resolve. I sighed, it was clear she wasn’t going to budge on words alone. I saw five different ways of getting through her and all of them involved getting physical, which I didn’t want for both of our sakes. Odds are in the state I was in, she would have jacked me up pretty good if I tried to go through her. I looked past her and grabbed my gear bag which sat next to the door.

“You win,” I conceded, shouldering the bag and walking back to the couch. She sighed in relief and sat back down on the recliner. I unzipped the duffel and sitting on top was Knox’s SyncWare ICE, I cocked my head in interest, pulling it out from the bag to analyze it. It was locked again, and I didn’t have Knox’s print, but I was willing to bet it could still be useful.

“New phone?” she inquired, not knowing it was Knox’s.

“Yeah,” I lied, tossing it back into my bag for later.