Blessed Be the Name
Bob's Used Cars 4 Less dealership outside Newton, NJ 0-darkhundred hours, 25th of June, 2008 He crawled, he inched like a worm, he slithered when necessary through the underbrush and the mud. The ranger's outfit lay stuffed in his pack, stashed behind the dealership. He was in direct covert reconnaissance mode, carrying the bare minimum on him at the moment. He faded from place to place making full use of every hollow, every shrub, every stump that provided itself as concealment from the parking lot and the road. He completed his third circuit around the perimeter, having spent three hours in the process. He'd set various alarms, snares, traps. He'd learned the lay of the land, and plotted potential E & E routs and contingencies. And he'd determined that the place held no immanent threats to himself. Finally, Kihn, being in his element, returned to his pack, stripped off the LBV, keeping just his knife, now in a sheath on his belt, and a 10mm in the back of his pants under his shirt. No sense in scaring the proprietor, or anyone else. Night though it was, Murphy had a way of showing up, and he might be seen. The treebark camo pattern fleece jacket and pants, and the knife wouldn't be that unusual in this area, even this early in the hunting season. It had other advantages. Used to the standard army fatigues as he'd grown, he'd always preferred the similar tiger stripe pattern used primarily for jungle environments. Whatever the pattern, though, army fatigues tended to be cotton, a great disservice to the service people who wore them in the field. His current fleece would absorb far less water, keep him warm at night even if it did, and made far less noise when he moved through brush. He'd still wear the fatigues when they were expected, as when meeting former associates, but he preferred the hunter's equivalents by far. It was now dark, and he moved in by pre-designated routs, using the shadows, the land to his advantage. There was the watch dog that had almost grown tired of barking at him. At any rate, everyone in the neighborhood had grown tired of listening. The racket had begun when he was 20 meters away, and not a threat, which made the dog useless to its owner as a watchdog. All the better for Kihn. He rushed in, threw a steak over the 10 foot chain link fence into the yard, and moved back to the right along the fence and side of the building until he reached the door. From the lack of light and sound coming through the windows, or smoke and steam from the various pipes from the roof, and from the fact that none of the vehicles outside had been used recently, Kihn concluded that the building was vacant. Getting into the store and offices of Bob's Used Cars 4 Less dealership was relatively easy. Several tasks followed in quick succession and without pause to plan. The planning had been done long ago, along with training for such a contingency. There was the paperwork to be filled out by red-lensed pen-light, in a windowless garage. The item deducted from the inventory, all records that it had ever been there deleted. Appropriate payment, in cash, left in the register, another item added to and deleted from the inventory so things would balance. He attached the store's copy of the fake receipt and a note of explanation. The keys were retrieved from their lock box, and he was finally out the door, re-locking it behind him. He'd worn polypropylene liner gloves through the entirety, and wasn't terribly worried about finger prints. Besides, the money was sufficient that charges would probably not be pressed. It would even cover the dog. First thing's first. Kihn had already chosen his vehicle; an old ford explorer in dark green, like so many others on the streets in this region. It hadn't even been washed since it was brought in, and it sat in the side parking lot rather than with those vehicles ready to be sold. That was good. The proprietor hadn't even entered all the information on the vehicle into his primary D-base, and Kihn's note had recommended that he destroy what he did have, keep the cash, and forget about it. There was only so much one could do to one's self safe, but he had done what he could. He keyed in - no remote start or door lock for these old tubs – and left it in idle there for the time being. Now for the dog. That might be a challenge, but Kihn was good with animals. Always had been. Had to be. He walked casually up to the gate that would allow him access to the vicious looking creature. An Akita, primarily, though there was probably a fair bit of mastiff in him as well, and a beautiful specimen at that. Alas, Kihn read the dog's situation like a book. There was his hyper-active barking, the situation of his yard, the lack of pictures of him in the office, a glob of clotted blood matted in the fur on his left shoulder. He was abused and undervalued by his current owners. Who left their family pet at work, anyway? Probably bought from the pound as a cute, needy yearling, thought to make a good watchdog for the daughter. But it grew to become too much of a handful for pops, and was more or less abandoned to barely live out its days here. The Akita was finishing the stake, and again took notice of Kihn, growling low in his massive chest. The lips drew back from strong teeth in the huge, bearlike jaw, and intelligent, distrusting eyes tried to bore into Kihn's own. He stared back, muttering in his native tongue, baring his own teeth in a small grin. To a person it was an expression of satisfaction. To a predator, it was a threat. Either way, the animal would have to get used to it and respond appropriately. His voice rising now into a stern and authoritative, but not angry tone, Kihn slowly laid his hand on the latch to the gate. The dog's growl increased in pitch and volume in response, but still Kihn moved forward, his own voice turning to a growl. Such an animal had to be respected, but not feared, not submitted to, and not coddled. Kihn would be the alpha, and the akita would submit to being a well treated beta. He lifted the latch. The dog rose to a crouch. He shoved the gate inward. The dog leaped. He pulled the gate back, and the dog's angry lunge was stopped abruptly as he collided in mid-air with the gate. He'd shown his hand, and Kihn now knew him that much better. Even as the 150 lb dog fell back, Kihn slipped through the gate, lunging forward himself. The dog recovered quickly, already lunging for the intruder's throat, sharp toothed mouth gaping. Kihn was ready, his own body full of hard muscle just as was the dog's. One wild thing to another, they might be evenly matched, and he had brains on his side. He side stepped slightly, extending his right arm to wrap under the beast's neck and over its injured shoulder, even as he allowed it's impact to take him down to his right side. They landed, tangled together, Kihn's right arm squeezing the neck hard, his left pressing the powerful shoulders downward with all his own 170 lb mass behind it. The headlock would work on most animals, if it were tight enough, and his was almost tight enough to render the dog unconscious. The dog, for his part, roared, twisted, kicked desperately to get free, his jaws snapping an inch short of Kihn's face. One moment, the dog shifted just so, and Kihn clamped his own teeth down as hard as he could on its right ear. The yowl of pain and surprise could probably be heard for some distance, but when he let up and just lay there, embracing the magnificent animal from behind, and muttering his Blackfoot apologies, he had won. The akita squirmed once more, but this time it was to turn onto his back and expose his belly, not to attack the man that had overcome him without the use of a club. Kihn let him go, patting his thick furred chest gently. He had won, but not only this battle. He had also won a hard working and capable servant, and as time progressed, he knew he would win an ally and friend. Feeling those hard muscles beneath him, the heaving lungs, he had to wonder if losing Paige was so bad after all. At least this one wouldn't argue. He grinned a little at his own joke. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Not thirty minutes later Kihn led his new guard dog, Billy, from the enclosure and to the truck. He didn't use a collar or leash, though the thick studded leather collar remained for other purposes. They pulled out onto the interstate, and he was on the road again. The dog chewed contentedly on a huge rawhide bone – Kihn had found a box of them in the office – while Kihn told him of his plans for the future. They headed north. -------------------- The problem with being on the run, as he was, was the lack of intelligence. You never could tell where the enemy was unless you could see them for yourself, and by then you'd let them get too close. So you just had to keep moving, hopefully in such a way as to avoid them, and make sure they couldn't determine where you were going. You couldn't be constant, couldn't establish a pattern. You always had to change things. If you determined that you'd well and truly lost them, that they couldn't find your trail, then you could stay put for a while. Of course, it was far too soon for that now. An hour later he pulled slowly into a dark truck stop. There were three trucks there, their drivers asleep. Five minutes later he'd traded license plates with one of them, and switched another couple just to keep things interesting, and driven away slowly. The truck drivers never had a clue, and he didn't leave any rubber behind on the road to mark his activities or ID his vehicle. This time he headed south, but only for half the distance back to the dealership before turning onto a country highway heading west. It was good to have company again, both the dog and the Great Spirit. Threatened though his life was, at least he wasn't alone anymore. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a companion such as either of these. If someone asked, he'd have to say he was doing well. Return