The Hunter

He could feel the breath upon the back of his neck. And the eyes staring him down, he knew he was some where near by. He could smell the scent of American flesh. It was hard to explain to outsiders what the scent was they where to used to it to recognize its stench. His gun was leveled at his eye line as he spun in a slow methodical circle looking for even the slightest hint of a man in the foliage. A slight rustling of the leaves gave of the position, before the prey could move the shot was off. It ripped through the flesh of the beast leaving nothing in its wake. The boar fell to the ground sending leaves and vermin scurrying form its force. Most hunters would have been joyous at this kill, he wasn’t. He had grown tired of killing animals long ago, that was when he turned to Ortez. Ortez was a drug runner in the hills of South America. He was always in need of an experienced killer. That was three years ago, if he was a less patient man he would have lost count of his kills by now. But he was a patient man he would never forget any of his kills he remembered all of them. Each one meant a great deal to him. But as much as they meant to him even he was getting bored with hunting men. It still sounded weird even to him to say that a death he caused meant anything to him, but in truth they always did. The noise and the crashing pain brought reality back to him. He could feel the weight of his opponent forcing the air out of his lungs and pushing him into the mud. Before he could regain his sense of self the prey was gone. But a clear path had been cut by his escape.

The Hunted

The pain in his leg was causing him to lose his balance from time to time. The fall had caused more pain then it seemed to be worth. He was hiding in a place unseen by his attacker. He couldn’t explain why he was being targeted; he was just a reporter trying to do his job. He came down here to do a puff piece on South American Tourism, it was just supposed to be a vacation. Then it happened, I talked to this guy in a bar he found out is was an American reporter and next thing you know he’s being chased through the woods by some crazed mad man. He told the guy almost immediately that he couldn’t help him and that he should call the police the guy looked freaked out and left.

Two Days Earlier

“Hey are you an American?” Questioned the man as he sat down next to the reporter and looked about the room in a very nervous manor.

“Yeah, IM an American.” He replied looking in the places just examined by his fellow dinner.

“And you’re a reporter?” He questioned once again. He still looked about the room with an even more furious manor now looking for the unseen villains.

“Yeah, IM a reporter I work for…”

“I don’t care who you work for I have some information about the dealers down here.” He cried out in a whisper as he continued to look for the ghosts of his past.

“I don’t think I can really help you. Like I was trying to say I work for Playboy magazine.” He paused a moment looking about the room for his waitress. “You should probably go to the police if you have information about the drug trade.” He replied as the waitress came by the table with his check.

An Evening Alone

The room was quite as he sat there watching the headlights light his room in passing vigor. He could hear the news from the next room and was listening to a story about a local man who was found tortured to death with the local cartel suspected. He was trying to block out the noise from the blaring TV, but was not doing so well. He decided after a few minutes to go across the street to a pub and get a drink and maybe a sandwich in an effort to spur his creative juices.

The Pub was poorly lit but the food was tolerable and the wine was above average. For the most part his trip to Panama had been fairly successful. He hadn’t seen any of the rampant drug runners running around in armored jeeps shooting at anyone who moved. The people where fairly friendly and the food was very good. The only problem he could find was his lack of inspiration about how to describe the country he had seen.

As he walked back down the hall to his hotel room he could see the door to his room was open and they’re where men walking in and out as if a body had been found inside. “Excuse me, Signore.” Called out one of the men as he walked out of the room. “Are you David Fikes.”

“Yes I am” David replied as he walked at a now slowed pace towards his room. Before he could respond further the men walked quickly towards him and grabbed him dragging him down the hall and out to a waiting car.

:”What the hell is going on here, who are you people.” He called as he was forced into the car.

“That is a very interesting question David.” Replied a voice from the darkness. “My Name is Dr. Robert Filby, but you can call me Phil.”

“Where are we going?” David questioned as the car began to move and snake its way thought the downtown traffic.

“We are going to a little resort, that is well off the beaten path. Don’t worry though.” The shillotee was emblazed momentarily as he lit a cigarette, and took the first drag. “As long as you help me out all that your going to do is relax, have a few drinks and maybe even get laid.”

The Room

The room was nothing short of a nightmare. They’re where instruments of terror on every wall and single solitary chair and restraints in the middle of the baron floor.

“I really wish you would have helped us Mr. Fikes, it would have made things a lot easier.” Dr. Filby replied as he walked around the chair now housed by a drugged and beaten David.

“I told you he said he had some information and I told him he should call the police.”

“I wish I could believe you, David.” Dr. Filby stopped his circling and lifted David’s Suede wallet to his eye line. “This is a pretty young lady in the picture here what is her name David.” Filby slowly removed the picture from the wallet. Turning the picture over he could see her name clearly written on the back of the picture. “Clara, that’s a very pretty name. David don’t make me hurt her.”

“Ok let this arm free and ill give you the address where I have the information at.” David responded motioning to his left arm.

“Ok, David Ill release one of your arms.” Dr. Filby reaches around and unties David’s left arm freeing him to attack.

“Sorry Doc, but I don’t think I should stay here any longer.” David responded as he grabbed the good doctor by his throat. David began to squeeze with all the force he could muster. Tears began to flow from David’s eyes as he saw the life drift for Filly’s face. “Oh, please god save me.” David sat there for a moment staring at the Doctor’s dead body lying before him. The tears only flowed for a moment when he began to hear voices outside the room.

The Gun

“David, I can smell you. I know that you’re near.” He called out as he scanned the jungle for David’s presence. “I must say I am impressed not many people have gotten this far when I am hunting them most people are dead by now.” He continued to scan the forest line looking at every leaf, and every twig. Then he saw the movement he was hoping for this time it was higher then before, “I see you, David.”

“This isn’t exactly fair now is it.” David replied as he moved out of the jungle revealing himself. His injured leg dripping blood into a newly forming pool.

“Who ever said hunting was fair?” he questioned

“Even deer have a weapon.” David responded as he shifted his stance to relieve the pressure on his injured leg.

“That is very true, David.” He replied as he began to pull back the trigger slowly on the shotgun he was holding at David’s head. “You have been a good hunt, it’s a shame you have to die now.” The trigger was completely depressed now but still nothing happened. “Well maybe it is your lucky day after all David. Have you ever had a duel?” He questioned tossing the shotgun to the side. He reached behind his back and withdrew two glock handguns.

“Are you serious?” He questioned as the gun was handed over to him.

“Yes I am serious you said you wanted things to be fair, now there fair.” He paused a moment standing as he checked the handgun to verify that it was indeed loaded and ready to go.

“Maybe we can re-discuss this, I have never really shot a gun, IM not a violent person.” David clamored as he was pulling the slide back on the gun in an effort to verify the weapon was loaded.

“That’s ok, ill use my left arm.” He seemed be happy again, he was in a state he was seeming to enjoy. “It will make it more fare. I am after all an excellent shot but IM not ambidextrous.”

“I have never shot a gun before in my life. Why don’t you just let me go.” Replied David as he flexed the guns grip in his hand.

“Because then I would have missed a target and I never miss.” Replied the man as he walked back the ten paces and turn to face David.

“I really wish we could re-consider.” David replied once more as the man began to take aim.

“On the count of three we fire is that clear.” The man called out.

“One…Two…” before the final number could be called out David pulled the trigger sending the bullet fling to its target. “You where supposed to wait till three.” The man said as his final words as he slumped against the tree behind him. He looked down at the bullet wound in his chest, and before sensing his life slipping away whispered “Good show, David Fikes, Good Show.”

Local Denizens

David walked through the jungle for the next day and a half till he came upon a small village inhabited mostly by what appeared to be Gorilla warriors. “Can anyone help me I am trying to get home to America.” He called out as he walked further into the village.

“Are you David Fikes.” Called out one of the men as he began to walk towards David, with a high powered rifle in his hands.

“I don’t know if I want to answer that.” He replied moving his hand closer to the handgun tucked into the back of his belt.

“Well if you are we have been looking for you, We heard Ortez wants you dead.” The man replied lowering his rifle from firing position.

“Well yeah that would be me.” He called out moving his hand closer to the pistol’s grip.

“Well then in that case, you are welcome here.” The man replied one last time as he lowered his gun pointing it to the ground.

“Your not going to beat me up are you.” He questioned as he began to slowly lower his hand from firing position.

Home

Home never seemed so good to David, his nice little studio apartment was looking much more hospitable tonight. Walking across the room David could see the lights on his answering machine blinking wildly with 32 messages. David began to walk over to it, to press the button to play back the calls but decided instead not to.

The shower was cold and forgiving, its warmth cooling his body in ways he never thought where possible. The dirty is washing off, slowly but it is coming off, the blood will never be gone. David killed to people in the past week, the courts said he was defending himself and he did nothing wrong. It almost seems easier for him to be charged with the crime, then he could at least feel absolved of the crimes. But no he was forced to live with his crimes.

The Days Following

In the days following his return David was inundated with job offers and book deals. People actually thought he was a better writer because he had been held captive by drug dealers. And as to writing a book, why in god’s name would he want to write a book describing the past the days. He had thought about turning it into a short story, but who would want to read that? The only thing he really needed to worry about now was finishing his story.

The Puff Piece

“I was on a trip recently down to Panama in an effort to find out about tourism in the small South American nation…”