Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ________________________________ This is a story about a sexual FANTASY
written for consenting adults.  If you're not both of those, don't read it.
Characters in a FANTASY don't get sick or die unless I want them to.  In
real life, people who don't use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do
get sick and die.  You don't live in a FANTASY so be safe.  The fictional
characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY -
don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.

   If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here,
congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters
in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of
these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.

   This is my story, not yours.  Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. 
You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact,
but if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me
off. _________________________________ To Kill A Man (Mf rape violent nosex
caution) (C)Copyright 2004 - Shakes Peer2B shakes_peer2b@NONOsbcglobal.net
(remove 'NONO' from the above address to contact me)
/files/Authors/Shakes_Peer2B/
http://storiesonline.net/library/author.php?name=Shakes_Peer2B

   ________ This is a dark tale.  It is not about sex, though there is some
allusion to some sexual matters.  Read it at your own discretion, but keep
your hand out of your pants.  You won't find anything to stroke about in
this one.  If killing and graphic violence are not your cup of tea, skip
this one.  ________ What does it take to kill a man?  In the sixties, for
me, all it took was an order.

   "Take out that sentry."

   Hand over mouth and sharp jerk backwards to get him off balance.  The
blade plunged in just below the ribs, the shock of it entering his kidneys
keeping him still long enough for the slash across the throat that severed
carotids and windpipe.  Quick, quiet, efficient.

   "There's your target, sniper.  The one with the officer's cap."

   The sharp crack of the expanding gases that propelled the bullet at
supersonic speed from the muzzle of the rifle sounded extraordinarily loud
in the stillness of the jungle.  Never mind.  A thousand yards away, the
Charlies near the officer heard the meaty thwack as the slug impacted his
skull, and felt the spray of blood and tissue before they heard the shot.
The spotter and I were long gone before the enemy even left the compound to
search for us.

   Dozens of little brown men died under my blade or by my bullet.  Others,
I did with my hands.  I didn't know it at the time, but a little bit of my
soul died with each one of them.

   When we lost, turning our backs on the excuses we made for being there
to begin with, I had nowhere to go.  I tried various jobs, but there aren't
many legitimate civilian jobs for which being an assassin prepares you. 
This cardboard box is my home now.  I keep my cart close at hand, but
everyone knows better than to touch my stuff.

   It was just the barest of whimpers and the sound of a scuffle that
brought me out into the dark of the alley.  The years had burnished a few
glints into the dull black blade of the Ka-bar, but it was still razor
sharp.

   He had his hand over her mouth, stifling her screams as he bent above
her.  Her eyes reflected her terror, even more so when she saw me behind
him.  He didn't notice, or if he did, he thought it was about him.

   It's been a lot of years since 'Nam, and I'm a little out of practice.
The Ka-Bar grated on bone as it drove beneath his ribs.  Not perfect, but
good enough.  His mouth opened in a silent scream under my palm, and I
dragged him away before perforating his lungs several times, so as not to
get the blood on her - she had been through enough.

   I got my cleanest blanket - one I stood in line more than two hours and
listened to a boring sermon to get - and wrapped it around her.  She
could've been twenty or twelve.  In the dark, it's hard to say.  She looked
at me with ancient eyes that had no more tears, and took the knife from my
hand.

   Deliberately, she walked to where he lay, gasping for air with lungs
that couldn't work.

   "Do it quick." I whispered, "No hesitation.  The cops will think I did
it."

   A grateful glance flashed over her shoulder.  She stood there for
several seconds, then stooped.  The worn blade of the Ka-Bar flashed in the
light of a distant street lamp, once, then her left hand rose, carrying its
prize.  He had no air in his lungs with which to scream.  She watched his
eyes as she stuffed it into his gasping mouth.  I nodded my approval as she
handed back the knife.

   He heaved a few more times, then died.

   On the street, there was an all night diner.  Doris, the night cashier,
was good people, and I left the girl in her care.

   "Tell the cops the truth." I told her, "That I killed and mutilated him
when I caught him raping you."

   She started to protest, but I stopped her.  "I will not be here.  They
won't find me, and you have enough to worry about."

   In the restroom of the bus station, I shaved off my beard and cut my
hair, thanking Ryan Seacrest for the fact that my hack job, with the help
of a little gel, looked fashionable, then donned the one clean outfit I
owned.  Hailing a cab, I rode across town.  I walked several blocks to the
train station and bought a ticket to somewhere else.

   What does it take to kill a man?  As I sat in the dark on the Amtrak,
lulled by the clicking of the wheels on the rails, I reflected on that.  No
one had given me orders, this time.  This one I did on my own.  Somehow,
though, I felt that, finally, I had gotten back a little piece of my soul.