A Viet Nam vet with P.T.S.D. has been a hit man for a shady C.I.A. agent who recruited him out of the service. He has memory problems and is not always sure who he is or what he has been doing. He calls his wife Patience, though that is not her name, because of her calm and serene nature.

Nothing is as empty as a vacant life. When everything you thought you knew ends up being just sound bites and lies, you find you have burned all the bridges back to the truths you could count on. Happiness has become a sad memory with a large, gloomy darkness looming over you.
For the last hit, I was dressed as a priest. I said my first and last prayer that morning. I prayed Patience would find happiness and joy. I prayed she would find the person who deserved her and would treat her well. Strangely, I felt convinced that she heard me, and my mind was at peace for the first time in many years.
I could smell the sweet fragrance of mimosa flowing through the courtyard as the sun bore down with the brightest light I had ever seen. Somewhere within the compound I heard someone playing Fur Elise on a piano. Everything became crystal clear to me. I understood why I was here, why my life had become what it was.
I sat quietly in the second row in my cassock and white collar as a real priest read the eulogy from the podium. It felt kind of odd knowing the man in the coffin had been taken out by my mark.
When I saw the picture I had been sent, I knew that either some mystic from the future was trying to tell me something, or Mr. Green was sending me a pink slip. There were two pictures stuck together, and I was sure I was never meant to see the second one. I imagine a copy of that one had been sent to someone just like me. I realized then that I probably was the only one who could sit in a witness chair and tell my story to a jury and send him to a firing squad.
I knew I now had a target on my own back. I figured my only way out, the only way to square things with Mr. Green, was to take him with me. I knew he would be at the next hit to be sure thing went to his specifications.
This was an unusual hit, considering the way Mr. Green usually set things up. This hit was to take place at a funeral. How ironic this was until I found that second photo. It was then it hit me. I knew exactly who the second mark would be.
When the priest giving the eulogy said "Let us pray", I looked down at my cell phone and saw the reflection of the scopes on the roofs. Under the phone I held my ruger. I quickly pulled it out and shot the man in front of me in the back of the head. The next thing I did was take out the priest leading us in prayer, the one wearing Mr. Green' face, shooting him just to the left of his left eye. Then I began to feel the strangest sensation, as if I was floating in slow motion. Everything had taken on a red tint. I didn't know I was falling but I felt myself hit the ground. I could see someone taking the gun out of the other Green's hand, his robes covered in red.

Then there was death.

"Corporal"
"Aye, Sarge?"
"You bagging that one? Any I.D.?"
"No Sir."
"Tats?"
"A wolf's head."
"Hmm. A wolf's head? Back of the right hand?"
"Yes sir. That's right."
"The only time I've seen that was on Col. Green. I heard he went down in 'Nam! He was up for the Silver Star."
" Wonder what happened here. Who was that guy up on the podium? The priest giving the eulogy?"
"My guess is some patsy. I remember Col. Green. He was the one who started project P.A.T.I.E.N.C.E. Some black ops., spook kind of thing. He recruited a buddy of mine. I wonder if he had something going on here."


The End