Title: The Second Rule

Author: William D. Gregory

Rating: R to NC-17 (depending on personal perception)

Warnings: Lots of language, graphic violence, nudity, tastless power tripping villan, and bad singing.

Disclaimer: This is orignal fiction by the author.

Author's notes: So I sit here at the computer, my clothing is the only thing holding my skeleton together. The damn bunny is happily gorged on the floor next to me. The cat has been eyeing it while licking his chops. My money's on the cat.

Yes the plot bunny has struck again. Have you ever been thinking about a favorate movie and bam, plot bunny? Well that's were this one came from. It started by thinking about a scene from Star Trek 6 -- The Undiscovered Country. Unfortonetly, I was at work at the time so that's were absolutly any simularities end. Stress its a killer, needless to say some of that work time stress came out in the story. Thought I should warn you now.

May 25, 2001

By William D. Gregory.

A brisk wind blew through the streets of Barstow California. It was cooler then normal, and the town's busybodies were blaming El Nino. Considering what happened yesterday, the town had returned to normal.

They don't really seem to notice these things. Robert thought while waiting for the light to turn green. He sucked down another mouth full of his Slurpee while watching a gold lowrider bouncing on its hydraulic shocks in his rear view. The car looked like a frog hopping around on a hot metal plate. I wonder how long they'll be talking about it? Robert had just finished his last job yesterday; in fact he had caused the current situation. The mayor had been trying to move in on his current employer's market. He was brought in to settle the issue by putting a bullet in the mayor's head. Unfortunately his bullet also went through the shoulder of the mayor's wife and killed the chief of police. His employer was quite pleased with the shot and kept laughing about killing two birds with one stone. The wife would pull through, but her husband had it coming-he was as crooked as Robert's current employer. The police chief wasn't and that made his death unfortunate.

The light turned green and his nondescript car rolled forward. The lunchtime traffic wasn't heavy, at least not by LA standards. Robert smiled, he enjoyed his work. It's the only thing I've ever been good at. He turned on to the wide main street of Barstow heading for the freeway.

At eighteen, Robert had walked into the Army Recruiter's office an hour after he had graduated from high school. He has always been a patriotic man, and he followed in his father's and older brother's footsteps. He demanded the infantry and wanted to be sent to Vietnam. Once there, he became an excellent sniper, recording over a hundred confirmed kills and catching he eye of the CIA. That's when the fun started, until Congress cut the agency's budget back in the 80's. He had found work in the private sector, it paid better but a few clients had tried to invoke the first rule on him. That was the last mistake they ever made.

Robert looked into the rear view mirror and saw the gold glitter painted Cadillac lowrider behind him. He changed lanes then turned down a side street. "Oh I hope he isn't that stupid," his voice was low. The lowrider turned to follow. "He's that stupid," he shook his head. "That's one thing I liked about the government. They usually don't try to kill you after a job." He turned down another street with the lowrider closing in. He could make out four Latino teens and it was painfully obvious they did not know how to tail a car. "Amateurs!" he yelled. "They've got to be Diego's goons."

Robert guided his car out of Barstow, the lowrider following his every move. The city gave way to a narrow black strip disappearing into the brown desert of Southern California. "Lets get ready to rumble!" He shouted, while jamming the accelerator to the floor. The speedometer needle climbed rapidly, settling at 85. The lowrider tried to catch up but it was unsuited for the not so smooth county road.

Robert always played games with his pursuers. Back in 'Nam, the CIA would drop him several miles from his target. He always spent two to three days getting there and making the kill. He had one major axiom he worked by: 'get ahead of your pursuers. Then take them out.' He had perfected this strategy on countless NVA and VC solders and was proud of his record, 250 confirmed kills and over 800 secondary kills. He smiled, knowing the count would soon be over 804.

His green car jumped over the crest of the hill catching several seconds of air. Not wanting to get too far ahead of the lowrider, Robert slowed. He began looking for a side road. Glancing back he saw them gaining rapidly. He was never very good at mental math and he slowed down some more so he wouldn't miss the dirt road that came into view.

The lowrider came up and bumped his car. Their way of saying hello, he thought. The lowrider swung into the other lane. He could clearly see them now. He hadn't seen any of them before, but Diego had many people working for him. The lowrider pulled along side of him, the sun glaring off its black tinted windows. "Never make a desert chase in a lowrider," he lectured to the to the gleaming windows next to him as the side road approached. The windows slowly lowered. Two men turned their weapons towards him as a third bent himself out over the top of the car-the side road, coming ever closer.

An Uzi, Mac-10 and a Berretta. Robert instantly identified the weapons arrayed against him. "Ballsy, stupid but ballsy," he commented about the man leaning over the top of the lowrider. Robert like good action movies, and he always found a great line in every one, much to the ire of his friends and employers. "But this is ballsyer."

Robert slammed on the breaks while turning the wheel hard to the right. Tires screamed, and he cringed at the piercing sound of rumpling metal. His car bounced off the payment and zigzagged onto the dirt road with the lowrider spinning off the opposite side.

The car sped down the road leaving a large cloud of dust in its wake. Good choice, he thought as they flew off the top of a small hill. He caught a glimpse of the lowrider turning to pursue before he landed. "Real good choice," his voice vibrated as he bounced over the washboard road. He had put nearly a mile between himself and the other car as the road snaked its way down into a deep ravine. This will work nicely he thought.

"God damn it!" Paco yelled as his car slammed down onto the rough road. "Diego is gona owe me a new suspension for this!" His lowrider bounced and hopped violently along the road. Every so often the sound of breaking metal could be heard.

"Shit ese!" Antonio added from the passenger's seat as he desperately tried not to hit his head on the dash, "Slow down man!"

Chico leaned over the front seat. "Fuck that shit vato! I'll get you a new one after we cap this fucker." The car viciously jerked upwards smashing him against the ceiling. Chico landed on the ridge of the front seat; a sharp pain ripped through his abdomen as he rolled into the back seat. The shriek of tarring metal rang through the car. In the rear view, Paco saw the muffler bounce off the road.

Antonio looked back to his friends. Chico was desperately trying to sit up again while the third passenger sat there looking like a corpse. "Loco!" Antonio yelled at the boy. "Snap out of it ese!" He reached back and slapped him across the face. The car bounced again throwing off more parts.

"That was something important!" Paco yelled as he nearly lost control of his car. Antonio stuck his head out the window, trying to see what flew off.

Chico regained his seat and tried to rouse their catatonic friend. Every one called him Loco, and it fit nicely. Chico told him to lean out his window but he chose to climb out the other side and lean over the top of the car. Then they spun out. Chico was able to grab his legs, keeping him attached to the car and saving his life.

"FUCK ME!" Antonio pulled his head back in the car.

"What?" Paco's knuckles were white; beads of perspiration rolling down his face.

"Slow down man or we're gona loose a wheel." The car crested another hill and the ground fell away sharply revealing a cavernous ravine.

"SHHHHHIT!" The four wailed like a chorus of banshees. Paco franticly tried to keep the car on the snaking road as they careened out of control. He spun the wheel to the right, then the left. The rear passenger tire blew out sending the car spinning out of control. After several hair-raising moments, the car settled at the bottom of the ravine. A thick cloud of steam billowed out from under the hood as the occupants regained their senses.

Robert watched the lowrider's spectacular journey down in to the ravine. He smiled. Good show he thought as three of the gang-bangers stumbled out. Robert set the cross hairs of his .50 caliber sniper rifle on Paco's back-the rifle thudded softly. Blood spattered across the gold paint of the car as the semi-explosive bullet detonated inside Paco's chest. Robert moved quickly to the next target. The rifle thudded again, and Chico no longer moved as Paco's body fell to the ground.

"Come out, come out, were ever you are." He toyed while looking for the other two. Finally he found Loco still in the car. No longer catatonic, Loco tried to hide in the back seat. Robert adjusted the magnification on the scope and found his arm by looking through the back window. He followed the arm to were he thought the rest of the teen's body would be. The rifle thumped two more times.

A gentle summer breeze flowed over the grizzly scene carrying the smell of gasoline up to Robert. He scanned the car trying to find the last target. Robert was certain the one inside the car was dead, but he had to be sure. I'll kill two birds with one stone he though while taking aim on the car's gas tank.

Antonio crouched behind the car. There was no sound he though. Diego said this assassin was good but shit. Out of nowhere Paco's chest exploded and then Chico died before Paco hit the ground. Antonio was scared his mind unable to keep up with the situation. At nineteen he had been in many shoot outs back in LA but none of them had happened as quickly as this one. He knew Loco was dead and he soon would be if he didn't think of something. There was a loud bang as a river of gas erupted from a new bullet hole in the car. "Shit!" Antonio yelled as he began to run.

Robert grinned as the gang-banger ran from the car before his next shot ignited the leaking gas. Hitting a moving target was one of his specialties and he took careful aim on the teen. The rifle thudded one last time.

Paco's car exploded behind him. Quickly, Antonio tried to run for cover, hoping the explosion would hide him from the assassin. His body fell, decapitated by the guillotine like precision of the shot.

Night fell quietly as Robert pulled into a deserted gas station. He got out to use the pay phone. The number he dialed was answered by a woman in Spanish. "I have a massage for Diego," he coolly told her. The woman said something that he didn't understand. "Now listen good. I know you don't understand what I'm saying, but it doesn't matter. I know Diego is recording this." Robert took a quick breath and spoke slowly. "Diego, you need to buy five coffins my friend."

Hanging up the phone he walked back to his car, commenting to the inky blackness, "I hate private work. Nothing like this ever happened when I worked for the government."

Twenty acres of green contrasted sharply against the brown desert, its tall palm trees, fountains and a plethora of white buildings demonstrating the drug lord's affluence. The estate of Don Diego drank more water then ten golf courses. Diego love to flaunt his wealth. The swimming pool, the gem of the estate, was alive with frolicking woman of every color and nationality. Some of the more modest girls wore skimpy one piece bathing suites; that was the most any of them could get away with. A few wore string bikinis that were no better then pasties and a hand over their crotch. Others were topless but the majority pranced around in nothing but a smile and platform heels as the armed guards tried to contain their lust.

Two Latino men sat under a large canopy sipping Mai Tais. "Did you see the look on that bitch's face when her husband's head exploded?" Diego jovially asked his brother in perfect English. Manuel took his eyes of the large bouncing breasts of the blonde on the diving board.

"Que?"

Diego finished rubbing a fresh Cuban cigar between the thighs of one his women. To him, it added to the flavor, others saw it as a power trip. Lighting the cigar, he watch the blonde dive into the pool. "She's big," puffs of smoke rolled out of his mouth. "She got the biggest fucking ta-tas here." Diego pointed the cigar at his brother. "Ya gona listen to me or would you rather fuck her?"

"I'm listening, I'm listening." Manuel sipped on his drink.

"I said did you see the look on that bitch's face?" Manuel nodded. "It was great! Excellent. Oh her expression when his head exploded." Diego dragged on the cigar; his eyes were closed as he relished the image. "On live TV, no less!" Snapping his fingers brought one of his lieutenants to him. "You call Loco Eddie," he instructed. "You tell him to get the tape from the TV station. I want him to make me a picture of her face." Diego rolled over knocking the file from the hands of the woman giving him a pedicure. "Poster size!" He added.

"What in Gods name do you want with that?"

Diego turned back to Manuel as he dismissed the other man. "Fear," he hissed. "I'm going to hang it above my desk as a message. You mess with Don Diego," he thumped on his chest. "I'll make your ho look like that!"

"But the assassin isn't dead yet." Manuel looked concerned about the fact. "He killed the vatos you sent after him."

"Those four peckers couldn't kill a quadriplegic in a coma." Diego summoned another one of his lieutenants. "Call Juan. Tell that crazy Cuban this gringo needs a new necktie." He held up two fingers, "twice his normal fee." The man nodded and walked away. Diego returned to his cigar and watching his harem playing in the expansive pool as he conversed with Manuel about trivial things.

"Good morning Don Diego, Sir." A white man in shorts carrying a briefcase sat down in the chair next to him.

"Don't call me sir, Ned." Diego rolled onto his side disrupting his pedicure again. "Take a load off Ned. Play in my pool. Fuck one of my whores. Have some fun."

Ned opened the briefcase to retrieve some papers. He smiled at Diego's comments. "The wife wouldn't agree."

"Bah!" Diego waved his hand flippantly. "You accountants are just too up tight."

Ned examined the papers preparing to brief his boss. "The IRS got Capone," he took another stack of papers out. "It's my job to keep that from happening to you Sir."

"Ha ha, that's why I pay you so well."

"What the word Ned?" Manuel asked.

"Gentlemen. The word is this." He cleared his throat. "30,000 kilos of marijuana coming over this afternoon. 50,000 kilos of cocaine awaiting shipment in Columbia and revenues of $134,500,000 waiting to be laundered. Deposits to your business partners have been made in full and everything is on schedule."

"Losses?" Diego's jovial mood turned serious.

"This week." Ned shuffled through the papers. "1,200 kilos of Mary Jane and $30,000 cash." The three nodded in agreement. "Not too bad," Ned continued. "We should make it up before the month is out."

A naked Latino woman carrying a gold platter came up to the trio. "Don Diego," her voice was sultry. "There is a phone call for you." Diego picked the cordless phone up as he dismissed her.

"This is Don Diego."

"Its nice to hear your voice again Diego." Diego rumpled his brow. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Now what is this shit about you trying to pull the First Rule on me?"

"Roberto! You sly little fuck. You're not dead." Manuel gave him a puzzled look.

"Its Robert, Diego. Those four punks you sent after me are rotting in the desert." Diego's phone hissed. "But you already know that."

"Now Roberto, you know as well as I do, the First Rule of Assassination is you kill the assassin." Diego smiled, his voice turning mean, "And I always use it."

"Has any one told you about the Second Rule?"

"You might have mentioned something about it. Anyways, it doesn't concern me." Diego wondered how much money it would take to keep Robert around until his Cuban connection could get a hold of him.

"It should. To put it in small words for your small mind, The Second Rule is: if you invoke the First Rule and miss, the assassin won't."

Diego shot to his feet, his face red. "Are you threatening me?!" He started walking around the pool shouting in to the phone. "You're good Roberto! But that is the first time any one has dared to threaten me! Don Diego Jesus Montoya Rodriguez," he thumped his chest with a closed fist.

"It's the second time Diego."

Diego stopped in his tracks. "Que?"

"Last night I told you to buy five coffins. Four for the peckers rotting in the desert and one for yourself." Diego stare blankly into the phone. "I hope you got one that suits you."

A lonely, isolated hill rose above the desert over looking Diego's swimming pool a half mile away. It was barren except for a few shrubs. Two spread eagle bodies were staked to the sunny side of hill. The shrub that Robert had become move slightly. He glanced at the two bloated, rotting bodies that he had crawled between. They were obviously people who had gotten on Diego's bad side. Robert shook is head. Horrible way to go, he thought. Diego continued to cuss at him through his phone's headset. "It was time he shut up." Robert looked through the scope of his sniper rifle and found Diego.

Diego continued his stroll around the pool. His bodyguards and lieutenants followed him cautiously, not wanting to get to close to their irate boss. Robert grinned as he hummed a song into the cell phone. Diego stopped moving. He could see his song had perplexed the man.

"Nana nana, nana nana, hey hey hey." Robert placed the cross hairs on Diego's face. "Diego. You're dead." The rifle thudded softly. A second later, Diego's face was replaced by a shower of blood and bone fragments. The rifle rapidly thudded three more times.

Before any one knew what was happening, Diego, two of his bodyguards and his top lieutenant lay dead. Panic erupted around the pool. Screaming women ran in every direction. Diego's guards drew their guns, surrounding the body of their fallen leader. Manuel ran toward Diego shouting orders to take cover.

"Out of the darkness the bullets rip!" Robert tracked Manuel, a devilish grin on his face. "Another one bits the dust!" The rifle thudded again. The bullet tore through Manuel, spinning him to the ground. Robert quickly scanned for his next target.

"Now its time to say good bye..." Robert found Ned running up the stairs to the house. The rifle thudded and Ned rolled backwards down the stairs. "To all our friends and family." The rifle thudded dropping another bodyguard and a large breasted blonde who crossed into the bullet's path.

"FBI," A fountain of blood erupted from the neck of Robert's next target. He continued his bad song. "Federal Bureau of Investigation." He dropped another. "CIA," another woman crossed into the rifle's path. Damn it, Robert thought, more collateral damage. "Central Intelligence Agency." He kept singing as more people died. "NSA." Robert grinned.

An eerie calm settled on the pool. The rippling water and rustling palms were all that moved. Robert looked for more targets but none were to be had. Slowly he crawled off the hill and walked the quarter mile back to his car.

Opening the trunk he checked the brass catcher attached to his rifle. "All accounted for," he spoke out loud while packing the weapon into its case. He removed his sniper's outfit and returned to a more normal looking person before he drove away. Robert dialed his cell phone.

"Hello," a digitally altered voice answered.

"JS 4, here." Robert paused, waiting for a reply. When none come he continued. "The problem has been dealt with."

"Stats?" the voice asked.

"The major and all captains and lieutenants have kept their date with Hades."

"Others?"

"Five unintentionals went with them." Robert sighed slightly. He didn't like collateral damage, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. "Instructions?"

"Go to the spa. LAX in four hours."

"Not possible, I'll hit lunch time traffic. I'll need five plus." Robert nodded at the reply. "I'll make it in three. Is Melanie still around?" He nodded again before hanging up.

Robert turned on to the freeway heading for Los Angeles. He grinned widely. Costa Rica here I come, he thought. Melanie baby, it's been too long. Satisfaction settled across his face. "Private work sucks!" He told a semi-truck as he passed it at 105mph. "At least the government takes care of their people."

End...