The new apartment wasn't exactly new. But it was on the other side of town, almost into the next small city. And it wasn't in the best neighborhood. But people tended to mind their own business there, so it was just what Matt wanted.

            Rather than try to get another job driving, Matt decided to try something different.

            He ended up working in the warehouse of another trucking company, but he didn’t tell them he was a driver. He just unloaded the trailers, sorted and stocked the merchandise, and then reloaded smaller trucks for local distribution -- what his previous job was.

            The company ran two shifts, 5 a.m. to  2:30 pm., and then Matt's shift,  2:30 pm until midnight.  

            Matt preferred the later shift because the all Chiefs  went home at 5, and there was only Matt,  3 or 4 more workers, and a Straw Boss. 

            After 5 pm they stopped taking deliveries, and no more trucks went out, so they just loaded them for the next day's runs.

            It didn't take long for Matt to once again settle into another comfortable routine.   He would get home from work about 12:30, shower and be in bed by 1 am.

            He would usually sleep until seven, sometimes as late as eight o'clock, get up and mostly hang around his apartment until 2 pm, when he would leave for work.

            Once a week he would buy groceries and pay whatever bills were due -  the phone, lights, rent, whatever.

            For the most part he got along with the men and women he worked around. He didn't really socialize, and  everyone tended to  his or her own life, for the most part.

            There is always one or two everyplace you go who has to find someone to harass and pick on somebody.

            In this case the Picker was George Martin, the 9 to 5  Office/Warehouse Coordinator, who thought he ran the company, and everyone, at least, the ones working in the warehouse.

            And Matt was one of his favorite targets.  Since Matt tried to avoid any kind of conflict, he was usually given the dirty jobs, and was most often yelled at. Even for things he had no control over.

            It got to be a running joke that whenever things went wrong Matt was the one to blame.

            Even some of the office personnel played along.  But Matt never lost his cool, never argued back,  it just wasn't worth the effort.   He just more or less "considered the source" and just did what he was told to.   Except, he did wish that a certain female dispatcher wouldn't seem to enjoy it so much.

            Her name was Beverly Woods, and  even though she wasn't what  would be called a Classic Beauty, Matt thought she was absolutely gorgeous, just the kind of woman he could really spend the rest of his life waking up next to.

            But, since she seemed to pay extra attention to George, Matt never said more than was necessary, nothing more than business.  

            Matt had started in September, and the next thing he knew, there were notices on the company bulletin board about the upcoming Christmas Party, to be held in the conference room.

            The offices were constructed in part of the warehouse, with a large break room that doubled as a conference room.

            The party was to be held from 5 pm, until..., on the last Friday before Christmas, which fell on Tuesday this particular year.

            Matt had not intended to go, but rather preferred to continue working as usual.  But  George decided that the warehouse would be  shut down Friday night, and they could just come in Saturday morning to finish loading the trucks for Monday.

            During the party, the weekly paychecks and  Christmas bonuses were to be given out. 

            There were about 30 people  who worked there, and most of those in the warehouse would get a $50 bill.  The office workers would get $100, and lower level management $150 to $250.

            Although Matt wasn't much for parties, this one wasn't too bad.  Everyone had drinks, and soon everyone seemed pretty friendly.

            And,  Beverly even spoke to Matt a few times, much to his delight. Of course he never let on.

            Trouble started about 8 pm. Some of the employees were  going out to their cars, for pot, or stronger drinks, different reasons, and the front door was propped open.

            With almost no warning,  Six men with ski masks and very large pistols stormed the office, crowding everyone into the break room, demanding cash, jewelry and whatever else they could get.

            After robbing everyone of their paychecks, bonuses and personal effects, three of them took the company president back into his office to get him to open a safe they knew he had.

            After several minutes, two shots were heard and one of the men came back to get the next in line. The president had been killed, and they needed someone else with the combination.

            As two of the turned their backs, a couple of the larger men tried to jump them, but the third robber shot both of them, not fatally, but they were close to death.

            Everyone was made to lie down on the floor, and several more shots were fired to get the point across.  And two more people were wounded.

            As much as he hated to, Matt knew that something had to be done. He just had a feeling that there were going to be more of his co-workers killed if he didn't stop them.

            There were now only two men watching the group of people, but they were too far apart to take them both out at the same time.  So Matt picked his target, he was a little farther away, but Matt could move  into a better position to jump him.

             But he needed some kind of weapon, and he saw one!  Not 5 feet away, on the floor,  was a pencil, with a newly sharpened  point on it.

            Slowly, ever so slowly, Matt crept toward the pencil.  As he silently moved to it, he was aware that 5 or 6 of those on the floor were watching him, and he sure hoped none would be stupid enough to cry out.

            As he got to the makeshift weapon, he heard Beverly whisper, "For God's Sake! What are you trying to do, get us all killed?"

            Matt just gave her a hard look,  to quiet her, and them moved closer to his target.

            The man had turned mostly away from Matt to talk to the other one. As they talked the second one walked a little toward the door to try to see what was going on down the hall.

            And Matt made his move!

            Quietly, but  so quickly, he came up behind the man, put his left arm around his face, pulling his chin up and to the left. At the same time he drove the pencil into the man's back, through the ribs and into his right lung, collapsing it, so the man wasn't able to cry out for help.

            And with the same smooth motion, Matt reached around and got the man's 9 millimeter Glock before it had time to fall from his hand.

            But somehow the gun didn't feel right. Quickly, Matt dropped the clip from the handle: only one round left, and one in the chamber; Not enough to do the job. He needed another weapon.

            Looking around, Matt spied the telephone cord. He unplugged it from the wall & the phone, made a loop, and moved behind the second gunman. Before he knew what happened, Matt had the garrote around his neck and had pulled him down.  The man was face down with Matt's knee in the back of his neck, the telephone cord cutting into the man's neck choking him, and shutting off blood to his brain. 

            Suddenly a voice came from down the hall, a third man was coming to get yet another victim. Transferring the  end of the cord from his right to his left hand, and still continuing to choke the gunman, Matt scooped  up the fallen pistol. This one felt good -- a full clip.

             As the man rounded the corner, Matt fired a single round. The man was thrown back against a wall. The bullet had smashed into his forehead; he was dead even before he hit the wall.

            Matt heard someone cussing from down the hall, and heard two sets of feet running toward the room.    Matt knew the running men could see the man he had shot, and knew they would come in with guns blazing.

            As they rounded the edge of the door, he shot twice more, and two more men were dead; one was left.

            Matt then heard the ringleader of the gang yell out to his men. When there was no answer, he, too, headed down the hall to the break room.

            Before he got there, Matt hit the light switch, darkening the room.  He heard the  man stop in the hall, not stupid enough to run into a dark room from the light.

            So Matt stepped into view of the man, who instantly fired, hitting Matt in the left upper arm. But Matt fired only a fraction of a second afterward. And another bullet plowed into, and through another forehead.

            In less than 30 seconds it was over.

            Matt turned back on the lights, ignoring his bleeding arm, and dialed 911.  "Some people had been shot during an attempted hold up, and an ambulance is required."

             As they waited for the police to arrive, Matt wrapped his bleeding arm, aware that those not in shock were watching him, wondering how someone who had been so unassuming and un-argumentative could have just  gunned down  5 cold-blooded murderers.

             As the police arrived, it seemed that the dam broke, and everyone tried to talk at once.

            Eventually the police realized that Matt was the one who had, basically, saved them all from possibly being killed.

            Before the uniformed cop in charge could do more than get Matt's name, the homicide detective, a Lt. Baker walked over to Matt.

             "You did all this?" he asked.

            "Yes." Matt answered quietly.

            "You some kind of cop, or hit man, or something?"

            "No."

            "So where did you learn to --- do all this?" Lt Baker asked.

            "In Nam." Matt answered.

            The Lt. looked at Matt intensely for a few seconds and then asked, "Delta?"

            Matt shook his head slightly, and then replied "Omega...."

            "And you let one live?" the Lt. asked, half serious, half joking.

            Matt shrugged his shoulders and said "I was busy."

             The Lt. took a deep breath and then told his Sgt.  "He has to go down town. Get his arm looked at first, but NO cuffs, you got it?"

            "Yes, sir, anything you say."  He took Matt by his good arm, led him to the paramedic for a quick bandaging before he took him.

             "Lt.?" Beverly asked," What did y'all mean -- Delta and Omega?"

            "It's from Viet Nam."

            "I gathered that much. But what do Delta and Omega  signify."

            "You've heard of the Special Forces I'm sure - Green Berets, SEALS."

            Beverly nodded.

            "Well, Delta was a specialty squad, highly trained, very deadly.  Anything that couldn't be done with ordinary troops, then the Delta Force was sent for."

            "So what was Omega?" she asked again.

            "Omega is the last letter of the Greek alphabet.  When  Delta couldn't do it, Omega was called in -- the last resort.  They went in not expecting to come out. They would go in, do what they had to do, and get out as best they could. The ones that came back were the best; THEY survived.   By the time the war was over, there couldn't have been more than a dozen  of them left, if that many."

            "Out of how many?"

            "Probably a  hundred.  He's the first one I've run across since the war ended."

            "How do you know he really is one. What if he just said that?"

            The Lt gave her a small pitiful smile.  "Two reasons, no, three: One is that not many people ever knew Omega even existed. Two - I was Delta, I know the difference.

            "And three - look what he did: 4 men shot in the forehead with 4 bullets, one man with a pencil in his lungs to keep him quiet, another garroted with a telephone cord.  It takes some kind of training to be able to do that, especially after all these years.

            "You people are pretty damned lucky he was here. There's no telling how many of you would have died by the time these guys were through."

             Matt was kept locked up overnight.  During the night a report came in about another incident 6 or so months ago about another massacre. This one in the middle of the day, in the middle of the street.

             When Lt Baker let Matt go, he said, "It's too bad I didn't know about the first one, I could have made it a little easier for you."

             Matt didn't say anything, but gave him a small smile of appreciation.

            "There is  going to be a hearing about this, so don't leave town."

            "I'll be here." Matt answered.

            As he watched him leave, the Lt. knew that if Matt decided to take off and disappear that the odds of finding him again were about one in ten million, if that good.

             "You just going to let him walk?" the Sgt. asked.

            Lt Baker didn't answer, he was remembering. Remembering when  Omega rescued him from a VC prison camp, and from almost certain death, or worse.

            "Yes," he finally answered. "I'm just going to let him walk."                                            

             Matt didn't make it to work Monday, Christmas was Tuesday, which he spent alone, mostly laying around and watching TV, letting his arm rest.

             But he was back to work Tuesday afternoon, as if nothing had happened.  A few people came by to see how he was and to try to find out what happened at the police station, but Matt was pretty closed mouth, as he usually was about most things.

             Just before he broke for supper, Beverly walked over to his makeshift desk where he was filling out a loading invoice.

             After a few awkward seconds she said,

            "How's your arm?"

            "It's okay," Matt answered quietly.

            After a another few seconds, she started again,

            "Uh, Matt. Look, I know we haven't always been so... easy on you. Sometimes we could... should  have been more respectful, or something. And I just wanted to apologize for  all ----"

            "Why?" Matt interrupted sharply. "Why do you want to apologize?"

            "Well, after what you did at the party --" Beverly started to say, but was interrupted again.

            "If that had never happened, would you be here now, apologizing?" Matt asked with contempt in his voice.

            After a couple of seconds Beverly said,

            "No, probably not, but--"

            Before she could finish, Matt walked off, not wanting to hear her lame excuse, or her  new-found "respect-filled" apology.

            There was a hearing, and eventually Matt was exonerated.

            He still went in to work, but the publicity, even after it died down, still made work for him somewhat of a burden.  Things just weren't the same. sometimes he was more or less ignored, and sometimes too many cracks were made.

            So, Matt decided to do what he was best at. He would leave work Friday morning, and just disappear. 

            He mailed a letter to his boss, asking that whatever pay he had coming to him would go to his landlord, since he didn't tell him he was leaving.

            He wrote one to his landlord, telling him he could have what little furniture he had, and not to worry about his security deposit.

            And Matt sent in money to the electric company to cover whatever he owed.

            By the time five o'clock Monday evening rolled around, his usual time to go to work, Matt was 1000 miles away, headed west. Exactly where, he didn't know.  But he figured he would know when to stop.