Mercenary 6
By Matt Johnson

Part 1

	The TV blared at full volume: "…learned that Prism Technologies just began 
development on new procedures and sciences that will make stem cell research obsolete.  
Prism CEO James Verle`, in a written notice to the board of directors, stated that if 
everything goes according to plan, fully workable appendages would be able to be made 
from plastic instead of living cells.  This is Mark Franco with KNLF News, Los An…"

	The TV clicked off as Mr. Tripin stood up and walked to his window that 
overlooked the club.  Mr. Tripin was small man, 5 foot 7, 165 pounds, and short brown 
hair.  Surprisingly, however, he had very broad shoulders for a man of his size.  And 
though he was only 31, he had been through enough in his life that his haggard and aged 
face made him look in his 50s.  Mr. Tripin turned from the window and looked at his 
three assistants: his secretary, the club manager, and his personal bodyguard.

	He walked to the couch next to his bookshelf, on the other side of the room from 
the window, and sat down, "I've been a business man since my 22nd birthday.  My father 
left me $13 million from his farm in South Dakota after he died.  I took that money and 
moved here, to Los Angeles, the city of Angels, hoping to make myself a power.  It only 
took me five years of investing to become more powerful then the president.  Now, with 
all the money I've put into stem cell research, Prism Technologies is going to bankrupt 
me.  I can not allow this."  Mr. Tripin looked over at his secretary, "Make the call."

	The Bouncer grabbed a 20-something year old man in Goth clothes, picked him 
up, and put him on the other side of the rope, "You're not allowed in yet.  Wait your 
turn."  The Bouncer was 6'6" and close to 300 lbs.  He was hired by Mr. Tripin to watch 
the door of Club Purgatory and to make sure that anyone Mr. Tripin didn't want in the 
club wouldn't enter.  The Bouncer had been working there for two years and has 
followed orders perfectly.

	The man in Goth, obviously a little drunk, started yelling at the Bouncer, "Don't 
you tell me what to do or not to do, you overgrown monkey!  Why the hell are you a 
bouncer anyway?  Huh?  Did your playing days with the Raiders end when you hurt your 
knee?  Huh?  You dumb son of a bitch…"

	The Bouncer grabbed him and picked him up to look him in the eye, "If you ever 
call my mother a bitch again, I swear to God that I will separate your head from your 
shoulders."  He let the man down and went back to his post at the door.  The man in Goth 
stood silent.

	A man in a black trench coat walked to the club.  He walked past the line of 
people, directly to the Bouncer and started walking by him.  The Bouncer grabbed his 
arm and spun him around.  In what seemed like the same motion, the man put his right 
foot on the Bouncer's knee, bending it sideways in a very painful motion.  The man's left 
hand was around the Bouncer's neck.  He reached into his pocket and grabbed a card.  He 
held the card in front of the Bouncer's face: the six of clubs.  The Bouncer's eyes grew 
twice their size and he almost started crying, "I'm sorry, sir.  Please, go right in.  No one 
here will give you any problems.  My apologies, Mr. Six sir."

	Six, the man in the trench coat, took his hand off the Bouncer's neck and walked 
into the club.  The man in Goth started talking again, "Wait!  All I have to do is kick your 
ass and I can get into the club?  I'll beat you down you 6-foot puss…" the Bouncer threw 
his right hand and met the man's chin, knocking him unconscious.

	The door to Mr. Tripin's office swung open and Six walked in.  He grabbed Mr. 
Tripin's bodyguard and threw him out the door, down the steps, to the floor of the club.  
The club manager and Ms. Shelley quickly left the office, closing the door behind them.  
Mr. Tripin, walking over and sitting behind his desk, mumbled to himself, "Now I have 
to find new personal security."

	Six threw the six of clubs on Mr. Tripin's desk.  Mr. Tripin picked it up and 
placed it in the top-left drawer of his desk, "Yes, well, as you must know, I have a job for 
you."

	Six didn't sit down when Mr. Tripin motioned towards the chair, "I don't come 
cheap."

	"No," Mr. Tripin said, "I know you don't.  But, you're the only person who can 
do what I want done."

	Six said nothing.  He stared at Mr. Tripin, burning holes through his eyes.

	Mr. Tripin, clearing his throat, started again, "Mr. Six, I'm sure you've heard that 
Prism Technologies is developing a plastic replacement to stem cell.  I've invested a lot 
of money into companies who are doing stem cell research and if Prism is successful, 
then I go bankrupt.  I'm too high up in the food chain to start over.  I can't allow Prism to 
succeed.  This is where you come in.  I don't want this research to get off the ground.  
Stop Prism and eliminate anyone and anything that could lead to someone perfecting this 
science.  I want to stay a rich man.  And as long as I'm a rich man, you'll be a rich man."

	Six continued to stare at Mr. Tripin.  After a long pause, Six agreed to do the job, 
"I'm going to need information.  You need to find out how many people know about this, 
how many plants this is being tested at, and how many computer's and hard files there 
are.  You have three days to collect this information."

	"Good, good.  Now, for the monetary issues, I'm sure that you'd like half now, 
and half when the job is completed."

	Six nodded.  Mr. Tripin pushed a briefcase across his desk towards Six.  Mr. 
Tripin smiled, "Twenty million.  I assume that will be enough for now."  

Six picked the briefcase up and started walking out the door, "Tripin, do not call 
me during this job.  Not once.  If I need to talk to you, I'll contact you.  You will not need 
to talk to me.  I do this my way and you will not interfere." 

"Wait, don't you want to count the money?"

"You called me.  You know what I'd do if you shorted me," the door closed and 
Six was gone.

Mr. Tripin left his office and walked down the stairs into his club.  He walked 
past all the dancing people to the bar and got a beer from the bartender, "Jimmy, you ever 
do something that seems like the right thing, but after it's done you feel like you just 
played cards with the Devil?"

"I have, Mr. Tripin.  Let me get you another drink."

Part 2

	Mr. Tripin sat in his office looking over his stock portfolio.  He bought 
Amazon.com stock in 1997, Ebay.com stock in 1995, and when he was fifteen he took all 
the money he had and bought twenty shares of an upstart computer company, Dell.  He 
knew from day one that computers were the way to go.  Now, computers had made him a 
very wealthy man.  He reached the end of his portfolio and looked at his latest 
investment, a six of clubs.  The card stared Mr. Tripin in the eyes, saying, "I'm the 
biggest investment you've ever made.  I could make you bigger then ever, or I could 
break you."  The card tormented him.  For the last three nights, he didn't sleep more then 
two hours, wondering if he damned himself for hiring someone to destroy good people 
doing good work so he can make more money.

	A loud Thud startled Mr. Tripin.  Six was in his office, waiting for maps and 
information on Prism Technologies.  Mr. Tripin handed him three CDs containing the 
locations of the plant Prism is doing it's research at and the homes of the four people who 
are working on the project.  On the final disc was information of James Verle`.  His 
address, where his office is located, his phone and pager numbers.  His day-to-day 
schedule and when and where all of his business trips are for the next three months.

	Mr. Tripin, stuttering like a man who hasn't slept in three days, says, "How… 
how lo…long will this take you?"

	Six looks up at Mr. Tripin, "Depends.  I have to validate all these," he held the 
CDs up, "then I have to stake out each person and the plant.  Decide when the best time 
to start is."

	"Please," Mr. Tripin asks with desperation in his voice, "please, when will the 
first kill happen?"

	"Hmm… I'd say you'll see it on the news in about two weeks."

	"How long will it take in between the first kill and the last?"

	"Don't know.  Depends if any of them catch on.  Verle` will be the hardest to get.  
He'll have security.  After the first employee dies, he'll have more.  By the time I get to 
him, he'll have eight bodyguards with him at all times.  More when he's at home."

	"Please…"

	"One month.  There will be a ashes and missing computers and five bodies one 
month from now."

Part 3

	Michael Somerton stepped out of his Volvo and locked his car at 8:37 am.  He 
took a deep breath of the fresh morning air then walked towards Prism Technologies 
Plant #4.  He met Susan Pider on the way.  They talked amongst themselves until they 
reached the door.  Susan Pider entered her four-digit access code to the plant.  After she 
was in the building, Michael Somerton entered his code and entered the building.  Six 
wrote all this down, including their access codes.  He started the van and left the plant.

	Robert Wilk picked his son up from school at 3:04 pm.  He hugged his son and 
then helped him into their new Dodge Caravan.  They drove away from school, minding 
all traffic signs and stopping for every pedestrian.

	Six sat across the street from 1024 Milton Ave., noting every detail about the 
house.  Two-levels.  Next to the front door was a large window that gave a perfect view 
of a leather couch and a TV.  Above the door on the second level, was the bedroom 
window and Vicki Ross getting ready for bed.  It's 8:57 pm.

	The details of these four people's lives were recorded in Six's journal for the last 
nine days.  He knew where they were going and what they were going to do before they 
did.  He could predict what they would say in conversations and what they would have 
for dinner.  He was in their lives now, and they didn't know it.

Part 4

	Michael Somerton stepped out of his Volvo and locked it.  He walked to the plant 
and met Susan Pider on the way.  Susan let Michael go in first.  He entered his code and 
walked through the door, beginning his shift as safety manager for Plant #4.

	Susan entered the first two numbers of her access code when her mouth was 
covered with a rag soaked in chloroform.  Six hit cancel on the keypad.  He carried her up 
a tree and jumped across the divide onto the roof of Plant #4.  Six poured lamp oil all 
over Susan Pider's clothes and placed a firecracker on her stomach and lit the fuse.  He 
jumped to the tree, climbed down and ran to his van.  POP!  Susan Pider's body went up 
in flames.  She woke up and started screaming at the top of her lungs.  Susan Pider stood 
up and jumped and ran around.  The fire spread faster until it burned through her skin and 
found her muscles.  By this time she could no longer scream and she couldn't find the 
strength to keep moving.  Susan Pider lied back down on the roof of the plant and 
accepted her fate.  "One," thought Six.

	Michael Somerton walked out of Plant #4 at 12:18 pm, wondering where Susan 
had run off to.  He unlocked his car and got in.  He adjusted the mirrors and fastened his 
seat belt.  The key entered the ignition and Michael Somerton turned the key.  The bomb 
was placed under the passenger seat of the Volvo, causing a piece of sheet metal from the 
floor of the car to shoot up and into Michael Somerton's neck.  The fire reached the 
recently filled gas tank and the car exploded.  Michael Somerton's body was no longer 
recognizable.  "Two."

	Two and a half hours later, at 2:57 pm, Robert Wilk is on his way to pick his son 
up from school.  He's two blocks away from the school when his brakes fail and he 
crashes into a tree outside the Big Brothers/Big Sisters of America building.  With a 
broken leg and bleeding from the head, Robert Wilk climbs out of the flaming wreckage 
and starts crawling towards the Big Brother/Big Sisters building until he feels Death, in 
the form of Six's eight inch hunting knife, enter the back of his neck.  Six pulled his knife 
out of Robert Wilk and left.  As he walked away, he called 911 and told them to clean the 
mess up.  "Three."

	Six sat across the street from 1024 Milton Ave. for two hours.  He watched as 
Vicki Ross ate dinner by herself.  He watched her iron three shirts and a pair of slacks.  
He watched her watch TV for forty minutes alone because her husband is out screwing 
his boss.  When he comes home, Six watches as Vicki Ross and her husband yell at each 
other for twenty-three minutes.  Then, at 8:56, Vicki Ross walks upstairs to her room and 
starts getting undressed.  At 8:57, a bullet enters Vickie Ross's forehead.  At 8:58, a 
bullet enters her husband's stomach.  Six did him for free for mistreating his wife.  He 
wanted him to feel pain before he died.  "One more."

	At 11:23 that night, eight men became James Verle`s personal security.

Part 5

	"…three employees of Prism Technologies were found dead last night.  Michael 
Somerton, a thirty-eight year old physicist was found in his car, which had been blown 
up.  His body was completely mutilated and dental records were needed to determine his 
identity.  Robert Wilk was found on the lawn of the Big Brothers/Big Sisters club of 
America on North and 3rd.  He was in a car accident but had a large knife wound on the 
back of his neck.  Vicki Ross and her husband each had one fatal bullet wound.  They 
were found in there home just outside Hollywood.  Susan Pider is missing and police 
have no clue where she is at at the moment.  With the exception of Mr. Ross, the 
common bond between these people is they were all part of the new stem cell 
replacement project that Prism Technologies announced two weeks ago.  CEO James 
Verle` denied to comment at this time.  This is Mark Franco with KNLF News, Los 
Angeles."

	The TV clicked off.  James Verle` sat in his office drinking his scotch in a cold 
sweat.  It was 4:19 pm.  He was there to prepare a written statement about the death of his 
employees.  "This, that has transpired over the last couple days, is undoubtedly the 
greatest tragedy this corporation has ever endured," was all he had to this point.  Verle` 
wrote that at 9:04 am.  He had been sitting the exact spot for the past seven hours, staring 
at the sentence he wrote when he started work that day.

	Verle's heart would speed up and slow down at least a dozen times every hour.  
When his heart was steady, he would go through hot and cold flashes.  He would sweat 
half the time, and the other half would be too parched to speak.  His mind would 
constantly race between three continuous thoughts: grief for his lost employees, a desire 
to go back to work as usual, and fear that the person who took his workers would come 
for him next.  He had no idea that his demise was closer then he ever expected.

	 "Martha," Verle' says, pressing the intercom button, "tell them that I'm ready to 
go."

	"Yes, Mr. Verle`," the intercom spoke back to him.

	Eight men, ranging in size from 5 foot 2 to 6 foot 8, 140 to 320 pounds, walked 
into Verle's office and surrounded him.  In one smooth motion, the nine of them left the 
office and towards the restroom.  Verle` and two of the larger men walked in the 
restroom.  Two minutes later, the three of them joined the other six and went to the 
elevator.  Traveling eighteen stories, the elevator dropped the men off at the lobby.  Ten 
minutes later they were in a van, on they're way to Verle's apartment.

Part 6

	Nine hundred dollars sat on the dresser in the corner of the room.  Melanie, from 
the Hollywood Escort Agency, put the money in her pocket as left the room.  Six was 
sitting on the bed, cleaning his rifle.  The radio news filled the room with reports of a 
quadruple murder as he smiled, congratulating himself on his work.  He had killed many 
more people then these four, but this was the first time he had ever killed four in one day.

	After showering and getting dressed, Six left the room at 12:36 am.  He headed 
towards Prism Technologies Plant #4.  There was too much in the plant to take care of by 
hand.  He thought it'd be easier and more efficient to destroy all the information in one 
move.  Fourteen pounds of C4 was in Six's bag.  Two pounds were placed outside each 
wall of the plant.  After entering Susan Pider's plant access code (which, in turn, turned 
all security off), Six placed one pound of C4 next to the walls on each side.  The last two 
pounds were placed on the cabinet containing the physical progress of the project and on 
the filing cabinet containing all the hard copies of the recorded data.  A timer was placed 
on each pound of the explosive.  Six had five hours to get out of the plant.

	The computer screen came to life with a warm glow.  Six closed Windows and 
entered DOS.  Immediately after "format c:" the curser blinked furiously.  Six hit enter.  
Forty-eight minutes later, the computer's information was gone.  Six repeated this on the 
other three computers in the lab.  He opened all four computer-cases and dropped a large 
magnet in each one.

	Six was three hundred yards away and he could still feel the heat from the 
explosion.  The plant and everything inside it was now nothing more then a pile of 
rubble.  Six couldn't wait to start on the last part of his job.

Part 7

	James Verle` and two of his body guards walked out of the bathroom to find the 
other six security men lying dead on the floor.  The secretary was gone; it was after 
business hours.  Sitting in her chair was Six, his feet on her desk.  He had a gun pointing 
at the three men, "Which of you two is the better fighter?"  The smaller of the two men, 
an Asian man about five foot nine stepped forward.  Six shot the other man with no 
hesitation, "My name is six.  You and I are going to fight, hand to hand.  If you win, I'll 
confess to the authorities for every wrong deed I've ever done.  If I win, however, you 
will be dead and Mr. Verle` there is mine.  Understand?"

	The bodyguard nodded, "My name is Lenil Chen."

	Six looked at him inquisitorially, "And you told me this because…"

	"It's very easy," Lenil said, "If you die, I will have known the man I killed.  If I 
die, you will have known the man you killed.  Anyone can pull the trigger of a gun.  But, 
to kill a man with your bare hands… that is skill.  To die in true, honest combat… that is 
honor."

	"Ah, yes.  Good, let's begin."  Six leapt out of the chair and towards Lenil.   His 
right hand heading towards Lenil's neck was blocked.  Lenil, in a counter-motion, threw 
his knee up, connecting with Six's ribcage.  Lenil began swinging with rights and lefts 
toward Six's face and stomach.  Every swing was dodged or batted away until Six kicked 
Lenil's knee.  His knee bent sideways, but didn't break.  Lenil did a shoulder roll away 
from Six and stood up.  His knee was hurt, and he had begun to limp.

	Lenil was only able to take two breaths before Six was attacking.  Lenil was able 
to block many of the advances, but with a hurt knee slowing him down, a few punches 
got by.  A broken nose, fractured finger, and a hurt knee forced Lenil to switch to 
offense.  If he continued to take Six's attacks, he would surely be dead within minutes.  
Lenil blocked a right fist from Six by grabbing his wrist and twisting Six's arm left.  Six 
managed to place his left foot behind Lenil's right ankle.  With everything he could 
muster, Six moved Lenil's legs enough to cause him to loose balance.

	They stood at the same time.  Lenil immediately shoved his hand towards Six's 
neck, but Six dodged and stomped down on Lenil's hurt knee: CRRK!  Lenil dropped 
immediately.  Six walked behind him and grabbed ahold of his head.  "That was 
undoubtedly the most fulfilling fight I've had in years.  Thank you," and with that Six 
very quickly twisted Lenil Chen's head: SNAP!

Part 8

	Two individuals sat inside James Verle's office.  One of them was James Verle`, 
the other was the man sent to kill James Verle`.  "What kind of a name is 'six'?" Verle` 
asked.

	Six was sitting in Verle's chair staring across the desk at Verle`, "Do you really 
think you're in a good position to ask me anything?"

	"Well, I figure you're going to kill me no matter what I say.  So why not?"

	"I like your reasoning."

	"Well…" Verle` asked again.

	"What kind of a name is 'six'?" Six repeated.  "It's really quite simple.  I have 
this belief that everything is art: paintings, scientists, politicians, corporations… 
everything.  I named myself Six because I feel I'm the sixth greatest artist ever."

	"You have a high opinion of yourself."

	"I have reason to."

	Verle` kept talking, "So, who is so great, that their 'art' is better then your's?"

	"I suppose you'll want my reasons why too, right?"

	"It would be nice.  Grant a dying man a wish, or whatever you need to tell 
yourself to justify this conversation."

	"Very well then.   Number five on my list:  Leonardo De Vinci, the Renaissance 
man.  He was centuries before his time.  If he would have been born in the mid-1800s, he 
would have created everything that it took the Wright brothers, Henry Ford, and almost 
every other so-called 'inventor' to create in that time period."

	"He was a painter too, you know."

	"Yes, but his paintings were rather drab, if you ask me."

	"Well, that's your opinion.  But, I believe you're on to four."

	"Number four: Jimmy Hendrix.  Forget Mozart, Bach, the Beatles; nobody ever 
could tell a story better through music then Hendrix.  If I ever do anything while listening 
to him, I feel I've cheated him and myself because I'm missing out on every incredible 
note he plays, on every word to the story of the music."

	"I would have gone with Eric Clapton."

	"Pablo Picasso."

	Verle` stayed quiet for a moment, "What?"

	"Pablo Picasso," Six restated, "number three is Pablo Picasso.  He saw the world 
in a way that no one else has even dreamt of seeing it.  He could see people's true form 
and put in on paper.  The images were distorted and crooked, but that's how people truly 
are."

	"Back in college, a couple of my frat brothers would trip acid and look at picture 
books of Picasso's work.  That's some scary stuff," Verle` said with a grin.

	"…" Six was not amused.

	"Anyway, please continue."

	"Well, this next one I have a hard time deciding where he's a better artist then 
Picasso, but it doesn't really make any difference.  Dr. Seuss is number two.  His 
children's books were always so much more complex then they seemed.  They were the 
ultimate look into human behavior.  Dr. Seuss had the uncanny ability to sum up a 
specific feeling, such as hate or fear or compassion, into such a simple thought.  He then 
turned those thoughts into the creatures he used in the stories.  When you're looking at 
something that isn't human, it is so much easier to accept."

	"Wow, I've never thought of Dr. Seuss that way before.  Now you've got me 
really interested, who's number one?"

	"This is the easiest decision of them all.  London, 1880s.  Five prostitutes are 
murdered in the streets and no one ever catches the culprit.  Jack the Ripper is the greatest 
artist of all time.  He's absolutely fascinating.  The wounds in the bodies were cut with 
surgical precision.  He removed specific organs from them, and knew exactly where they 
were.  He performed all but one of his masterpieces in the street, and London Yard was 
completely clueless.  He even left clues, at the feet of the hookers, as to who he is and 
they still couldn't catch him.  If everyone had his dedication, this world we live in would 
be a Utopia."

	"Jack the Ripper?  You are one sad, sadistic, delusional psychotic."

	"Hmm…  Why, yes.  I suppose I am." Six pulled his gun and shot James Verle` in 
the head.

Part 9

	A second briefcase full of money sat on Mr. Tripin's desk.  Six walked in and 
grabbed the suitcase.  He glared at Mr. Tripin and said, "Tripin, the job is done.  I only do 
one job for a person.  If you ever call on me again, I will kill you."

	Mr. Tripin sat in his chair, dumbfounded, "But I might need you again…"

	Six jumped onto Mr. Tripin's desk and pulled his knife out, "I just warned you, 
didn't I?"

	Mr. Tripin sat in his chair, with his throat slit, as the office door slammed.